Marlee Bush

I want to pluck your brain out and put it under a microscope. Roll it around my fingers and feel your thoughts.

I only know because mine were open.

but I left something behind. Something that will tether me there forever.

Sometimes it’s better not to know.

Here’s the thing about memories. You can’t control or choose when they come to you. Like this one. Entirely meaningless—I forgot all about it. It’s one of those memories tucked into the furthest corner of my mind. Not for any particular reason, only that it’s odd enough to stand out but not spectacular enough to dwell on.

Emily watches, swaying on her feet. “Are you going to run now?” she asks. Her words sound slow, sluggish.

“No,” I say, moving to my feet. “But you should.” I lunge for her.