Bad memories, like other capital crimes, have no statute of limitations. Take this one of me asking Kimiko to the senior prom. (And not realizing I had some lettuce stuck to my teeth.) Every time I think of it, I seize up and shudder.

I doubt Kimiko remembers it. I doubt she even remembers me. I'm glad I was sick for our school photos that year, my nametag doesn't have a picture of me with seventies hair (and acne.)

Yep, she forgot completely about me. She gave me that blank smile after a few frantic blinks trying to remember who I was. Why don't I feel any better? The memory's still there, just waiting to pounce.

Calm. Calm. Don't spaz out, not here. Just focus off to the distance. See? No one you recognize. No one that you screwed up in front of.

Hey, why is that guy staring at me and cringing?

---

This one is fed by both my own memories and how they torment me, as well as the concept of a statute of limitation and how it doesn't apply to same.

This idea probably could use some more bake time. I'm not sure if it would make a better philosophical blog entry or flash.fic, but at the time it seemed suited for the latter. The indecision whether to elucidate or to exaggerate hobbled it.

Originally, I was going to anthromorphize the memories, have them chase me and accuse me, much like the pink elephants from Dumbo or hefflelumps and woozles from Winnie the Pooh. Then, it was going to be an exchange of dialogue. Finally, it became a running monologue as the first-person protag gradually reveals the setting and some of the situation.

The ending is a bit of a 'twist in the tail,' but not strongly so. I've railed against those twist endings too often already, so there may be some small hypocrisy here, but it's small, much like the twist.

I hope the story is re-readable in spite of knowing the 'twist,' anemic as it may be.