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Short Story: Mind Shelf

Mind Shelf
            Gilda owned many porcelain-cracked teacups, which she would set on the highest of shelves. Seventy years had gone by without much use of any of her fine china. Gilda normally kept her fine plates and tea sets in a massive shelved armoire to display her treasure. These treasures were never touched, only brought out for special occasion. But even the finest of stone ages every year, whether used for tea every Sunday, or a shot of whiskey every night.
            Gilda’s bones and mass were becoming paper and ink. Novels line the armoire, filling more space than the china. Over the decades she had fallen in love, experienced tragedy, and even felt a sort of commonplace. Her life is a novel akin to a celebrity memoir; she had seen it all. But now her skin was becoming so thin that the only writing she saw were her darkening and raising veins.
            Gilda’s eyes were turning to filmed white marbles. Kept in a jar, to preserve her once blue and gleaming gems. She looks at her photo album to find remnants of what she once was, but she can no longer see the youth in her eyes let alone anything ten feet in front of her. The marbles will do.
            Gilda’s husband, Mark, is a Mercury Comet from the 60’s; a classic car but with an vintage engine. The ride used to be sweet, luxurious, but most of all young. Now the Comet does not know how to find his way home, and wears diapers. He cannot remember where Gilda’s shelves are.

            Gilda’s mind is a spinning top, one of the few treasures she kept from her childhood. On the lowest shelf it is placed, at rest. She used to spin the top and watch it slow and stop. For many years, she prided herself in being sharp, quick on her feet, a sly fox. But the top must stop its rotation, and that’s when Gilda’s memory started to fade.

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