1
BABY
I am troubled by a memory that never happened.
We’re running, Freda and I. She’s ahead, her long hair streaming. The night is unnaturally bright, but not because of the stars. Freda turns to me, holding out a hand:
Faster, Savannah.
My bare feet beat the hard earth. Fear tightens my chest.
I glance behind me and see the world burning. The orange blaze, the hidden depths within the curling flames.
And from those depths, something comes for us.
I reach for Freda, grasping at her billowing nightgown. She looks back again and her face contorts with terror.
That is where the memory ends.
It feels real. But we’ve never escaped a fire.
Freda, my aunt, my second mother, was killed in a car accident nearly ten years ago. It is an impossible memory.




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