Where was I?

Where did I put that paper? It was in here somewhere. What a mess. Always so much stuff in my bag. No idea where it comes from. A packet of cigarettes. Empty, of course. Shame. Could have done with a cig. No such luck. Against the doctor’s orders. Bloody know-all. Smug too. Young enough to be my grandson. All his diplomas strung out on the walls. Proud blighter. And rich too. What’s this? A glove. One. Where’s the other? No idea. Like me and him. Only one survivor. Pretty useless without the other. Should ditch it. But there’s always a chance a second’ll come along. Even if they don’t match. And this. A lipstick. Used up. Long ago. In efforts to please him. Before he died. Always knew he’d go first. Quirky heart. Just gave up. There he was collapsed on the floor at my feet. So much for looking good. Smells exotic. Bright pink. Not really my colour. Looked like a whore. Might as well chuck it. No use for good looks now. Ah. The keys. I was looking for them. When was it? Yesterday. Or maybe the day before. No matter. Thank heavens they aren’t lost. How will I get in when I reach home? Where was I? Ah yes. That paper. But why? An appointment? The dentist? A doctor? Or maybe a letter? A picture postcard? Don’t get many of them these days. No blighter bothers any more. As if I were tottering on the brink. Going, going, gone. Always was stubborn. Won’t give in so easily. Of course! My address. ¬†On the paper. That’s it. Words. The keys to where I live. Must have lost it. Fallen by the wayside. Here maybe. Look at those feet. Black and blistered. Could have stopped hurting a while back. But the pain got worse when the shoes fell apart. I remember that. It’s the sharp stones that are the worst. The way is littered with them. So many paths to get home…

[330 words]

One Reply to “Where was I?”

  1. Thanks for putting confusing thinking into words. In Iceland I have an old father with alzheimer which I can imagine often thinks: “Words. The keys to where I live. Must have lost it. Fallen by the wayside. “

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