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Photographic Memory

The unexpectedness of the encounter threw me, at first.

I recognised her straight away: she looked the same, even after twenty years. The perfect curves, the long red hair, that killer smile. Walking along the seawall, dark sunglasses and white shorts, she looked as fresh and vibrant as she did all those years ago, in college.

Her arm was firmly entwined with another, belonging to some much younger guy. They stopped and stood together by the railing, watching the sea and laughing. I noticed her delight every time he whispered into her ear.

It came out of nowhere: that mix of resentment, envy and jealousy rushing inside me, like a train about to derail. Words inside my head jumbled up awkwardly and all I could think of was that I needed to do it.

My steps toward her, powered by the images burning in my eyes; like flashing photos digging deep into my brain:

his arm around her waist [click]

her head leaning on his shoulder [click]

his lips kissing her head [click]

The words came out in fury; spurted in a torrent of vile anger and disgust: "You bitch! I wasn't good enough for you then; you called me ridiculous! Who's ridiculous now, eh? - dating some bloke young enough to be your son!"

He punched me so hard, he broke my nose. I got up, bleeding onto my shirt and saw a white cane unfolding from her hand. She looked confused.

"Come along mother, time for a rest."

Story by:

Alex Alexandre

7 June 2013