Canadian Authors–Victoria 2017 Flash Creative Nonfiction Contest Third Prize

 Summer Science by Dawn Pearcey (Victoria)

Message: no liquids, no solids. Meet-up: early morning, Ward D, gowns only. Chatroom: roll call, who’s first, etc. Event: electric trance, performed in laboratory / sunroom mashup, with doctor no-mercy and the brief-pulse stimulators.

“Count backwards from ten”, one of them says, and I’m out by six.

The outbox: small sitting room, end-hall; piano, payphone, linoleum, and exit stairwell (optional). No other persons present.

Stupid, mucked-up twenty-seven year old, with crusty temples and confusion. Already ten years into chemical intervention, and now electrical. All the selves billowing, waning, equally claustrophobic as agoraphobic. I began the summer with Dr. B. saying, “I don’t care if it’s the Canada Day long weekend, what does that have to do with this?” This being her foot, going down on the brake of my fragmentation. I argued it was an arbitrary moment for sudden braking on the same-old, same-old of me.

And yet, the ensuing months of dormitory routine, scheduled currents and dosages, arranged talking, slowly produced a new iteration. A file-swiped tabula rasa, with hope anew that my bigger whole could digest all the nested self-similar dolls, and build a neo-set of rules for processing everyday life. (In the end it took another five years, and a more organic method, to achieve solidity.)

Friend request: remember me? I’ve been posting images.

Why now? Twenty-seven was millenniums ago.

Follow me?

Time can recover health; years return memory. Why insert errata now?

Hashtag: #crumblinggatekeeper

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