Days went by in a blur. Thoughts and feelings, rambled and fumbled about. Refusing to line up and stand too for inspection. Merely bits and pieces floating to the surface like the pointless witticisms of a magic eight ball.

To bounce back, a hard thrown ball deforms with contact, but then rebounds with no damage, no indicators of the traumatic event.

I can not ‘Bounce Back’.

I do not want to ‘Bounce back’.

Trauma should leave marks. Yet there were none. No open wounds or raised scars. Not even a torn set of clothing remained! Only memories.

Only! He seized upon the sudden flaw. A break in the pointless swirl of self hate and pain filled anger.

How can memories ever be ‘only’. Was not this entire world a manifestation of his memories? The sum total of who he is and the record of who he aspired to be.

Only!

Memories of past sacrifices, and temptations resisted, form the will. The will commands magic and the world itself. The body merely enshrines the will.

Only!

What was the value of skin deep scars before the wonders of memory. This illogical funk had gone on long enough.

It was time.

“Akil, please prepare my breakfast. Eggs Benedict with a mimosa.” His voice was shaky, but it was firming up.

A deep breath in, hold, a deep breath out.

“Also a bowl of plain oatmeal, a head of broccoli and a glass of water”

It was time.