The Exorcism of Memory

A Story by M. McDonnell

I never know where to put these category-wise, so please bear with me.

Every once in a while I open the door to my past and let all of the phantoms pour in... translucent representations of nostalgia. They pass through me leaving behind a chill unlike anything else. It's haunting--literally, undeniably haunting. Their ghostly feet slip into the footprints left inside of me by their real counterparts. Sometimes I forget that those imprints still exist somewhere in my soul, but their edges are as defined as when they were made years ago. How disappointing it is to have phantoms walk along where real people once dwelt.

Why do we torture ourselves by willingly opening up that door? Well, the phantoms are still company, right? Some kind of comfort lies in knowing that these past friends and lovers are preserved in some sort of half existence. If you've ever tried to hold a memory, though, you'll know what I mean when I say that it leaves you emptier than before; phantoms fall through solid arms and leave them cold and limp. I believe we all deal with these ghostly figures occasionally. The sad fact is that most human interactions or relationships end at some point, and when people walk away they leave in their places shimmering, two-dimensional figures that swirl around your head when you look at pictures or remember the sounds of their laughter.

While the phantoms trace the familiar paths in your heart, touching on remembered phrases of affection and inside jokes, you do your best to find a way to banish the spirits. Who wants to live with memories like anchors tied to the soul? The thought of fixing things always crosses my mind; having the flesh and blood version is undoubtedly better than the desaturated projection. It's unfortunate that some burnt bridges can never be repaired, especially when they're smoldering in flames called pride and fear. Sometimes we just can't find it within ourselves to douse the fires, so we hold our hands out to phantoms that can't see.

It's cold enough at night without being haunted by memories.