ABSTRACT
I have a memory. I keep it well hidden . . . tucked away in the folds of neglect that shroud the daily rituals of work and play and sex. It gnaws at the edge of my dream like a hungry shark as I swim in aqua-blue sleep-forcing me to bob abruptly to the surface like a deep-sea diver who suddenly runs out of oxygeneven though this action could force small bubbles of air into my bloodstream that will slowly make their way to my brain and end my life with a stab of concentrated pain. I open my eyes in the dark and my body is covered in sweat. This is the way memories make themselves remembered.
