Many thanks to SickLit magazine for publishing my story.
House of Detachment
When the memory police knocked on my door, I knew I would be in trouble.
“Hi,” I said in the most pleasant voice, trying to hide the painful recollections that had invaded my mind a few minutes ago.
“May we come in?”
Despite my unwillingness, I had to let them into my flat. In my untidy lounge, neglected due to the thoughts I had been compelled to write instead of doing housework, we sat facing each other. One of the officers coughed and explained the reason for their visit.
“Too many bad vibes are coming out of your house. It’s polluting the environment, and we need to stop this.”
“But I’m not harming anyone. Only myself, with my surplus of memories.”
“You’re transmitting negative thoughts and sorrow into the area. We have measured it. You’re also harming yourself, recalling past events that cause tears, excessive drinking to…
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