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I Shut My Eyes And The World Drops Dead

A mad girl’s love song

Linda Caroll
The Interstitial
5 min readDec 19, 2024

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The moon reflected in water hand drawn illustration
moon reflected in water illustration licensed from Deposit Photos

Seems to me memory is a trickster. Jester in a polka dot hat with pompoms and long, slender fingers slicing paper thin layers of a life, folding them into origami notes tucked in a back pocket. And on some random day with a wave of a slender hand, magically pulling them out as puzzle pieces. Set each moment by another, build a picture you didn’t even see coming.

Like this one.

Me. Standing by a chain link fence, bundled in parka and boots, scarf and mittens. Leg warmers to keep snow out of my boots. Breath visible as I stand staring at a padlock that was never there before. Not last time or the time before. And I’m wondering. Who locks up nature, and why?

And I know. I could turn around. Come back another day.

But the chain looks loose, is what I’m thinking.

Knowing no one is here. Knowing there’s no cell reception here. Knowing there’s no help coming should the worst happen or should anything happen that might lead one human body to needing the presence of another.

I put a mittened hand on each gate. Push them apart. Slip through.

It’s bright and white and almost blinding.

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The Interstitial
The Interstitial

Published in The Interstitial

The Interstitial strives to curate intelligent, insightful, and thought-provoking pieces about what it means to be human. We bring our readers a distilled view of the complexities, contradictions, and edges of humanity across all genres.

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