My Name Was Kevin

Photo by Reza Hasannia on Unsplash

By the time I stand up, my chin has stopped bleeding. The Christmas card and its insidious message lay forgotten on the dirty floor under the refrigerator. There is a lot of my blood on the floor.

I feel the Latin phrases (incongruous with the playful polar bear and mischievous elves) careen through my brain, carving hot arcs through what was and recreating everything from scratch.

The elves had tied the bear with a string of lights and were converting him into a Christmas tree.

Its eyes filled with rage. Everything was forgotten. Everything. Not the card, not falling to the ground, not busting the chin, or the blood, and certainly not the Latin incantation; everything else was discarded. All that this vessel once was. All the memories, thoughts, and feelings that once sat in the brain.

“My name was Kevin,” the new purpose says to the empty breakroom. Then it too dissolves into nothingness.

The new purpose searched through the scattering memories of this room until it finds what it seeks. In the far-left drawer are knives.

When the man leaves the room, every trace of who he had been is gone.

“The others will be in the front.”

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