Creative Writing: Splintered Memory

Splintered Memory

His fingers curled tightly around the splintering wood lining a doorframe he should have replaced years ago. The tiny shards bit into his skin, throwing pinpricks of pain across his palm. It was a testament to his indecisiveness that he barely felt it. Should I tell her? he thought, not for the first time that morning. His wife lounged on a couch that took up most of the small living room, reading one of those junk mail magazines he always forgot to throw out. She seemed serene, her hair hanging down over her face as it did when she was too focused on something to bother pushing it behind her ear. Was it up to him to disturb that calm? Even the critics were divided. Some posited it was the subject’s right to know, and

He’d gone for a routine checkup before the commencement of the new year, per the requirements of his law firm. It had proceeded as usual, running smoothly until the doctor had noticed a slight irregularity in his breathing pattern. After conducting two x-rays of his upper torso, they had discovered an advanced growth of carcinoma in the recesses of his left lung. Necessity demanded it be removed immediately, a tubular breathing apparatus installed to compensate for the lack of the second

The oxygen tank presented an inconvenience, but it hadn’t seemed to bother his wife so much. After a while, however, he began to notice the signs of change. He began seeing it in the way she looked at him, in the crinkle of her eye as she gazed upon the scar that used to be his left lung. He’d become to her like a piece of porcelain, something to be looked at and caressed, but that could shatter at the slightest misuse of force. Even once he’d spent his entire savings account to remove his apparatus and erase the scar, she’d treated him like glass. The external marks had been removed, but she knew what had been masked. So, when she’d mentioned an innovative technology that removed traumatic memories, he’d jumped on the idea. Her youth hadn’t been the most pleasant of experiences—it was one of the reasons she’d left with him in the first place. There were plenty of memories she’d wanted gone. In the end it had cost them a fortune, but the process itself had gone smoothly. More smoothly than she