A Lost Duckling

Memories. They are strange and beautiful things, really. They are abstract forms of remembrance, and they can sometimes invoke emotions that can change the way a person views the world. They can also come in waves, riding out the wave of misery, joy, or pain until the person has bled dry. The brain dances around the fire until the fire has extinguished, and then goes on with it's day.

A splash of cold water cannot save a raging fire.

EPISODE 2

I walk to school, then break into the run as I check my phone and see the time.

"Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck!", I mutter under my breath as the road turns into a crossroad. I turn right, already running out of breath as my stamina depletes rapidly. New Years resolution:

Run more. Birds tower over me as I pathetically run, my arms and legs growing weaker by the second. My heart thumps hard in my chest, signalling me to stop and catch my breath. But I can't. I have to keep on running, keep on running, keep on running. No matter what. I don't know why. Maybe it's because of the grey thunder clouds threatening to bring the lightning. Maybe it's because I don't wanna be late. Maybe it's because..

..of memories that my body remembers. 

I finally reach the pond right beside my school. I stop, coughing up blood - I mean, coughing up spit and saliva and I struggle to catch my breath. A little duck and it's mother waddle in the pond, gracefully moving it's little flaps as they do so. My pupils dilate for a second as a memory hits me, it's force so strong I almost stumble backwards. A colourful circle. Messy lines. A pounding heartbeat. Then, with almost no pulse left in her: 

"Move.."