She couldn’t remember how she got here, yet there she was - speaking on the phone to a man she didn’t know mere weeks ago. 

Those “mere weeks ago”, she attended a street festival, getting out of her hermit hideout and solitude, swimming in the river of people that she loves so much and likes so little.

She met a few girls she knew and, almost instantly, reminded herself why she doesn’t like spending time with women - gossip, malice, self-absorption… Not to mention tragic female insanity and delusion of “normality” most women have, where everyone is out to get them and they’re attacked by the oppressing patriarchy and other liberal lies.

The truth is, she wanted to be there and at the same time, she really didn’t want to be there. Not with the company she came with anyway. Middle-aged women acting like horny teenagers never really sat well with her. 

She couldn’t remember how she got there, yet there she was - entering a house and seeing a smiling face of a man she’s never met, but seemed very close. 

They smiled, then laughed. He took her name and number and she went on with her day. As she sat down, a little girl came and sat in her lap taking an interest in a small bracelet around her wrist with a flat metal cross on it. She took it off and gave it to the little girl. The little girl was pulled away by her mother and they left together.

She couldn’t remember how she got there, but as she started to become more intoxicated, the sense of unease by the company of the mean girls, she decided to make her way home - to her safe haven of quiet rest. She walked through the crowd for ages knowing that even though she was tipsy and stoned and walking alone, her mind was safer than sitting in that snake’s nest.

Life went on, as life does. Stale life of hidden insanity and tired eyes, people cases and dreaded repetition of their silly little patterns observed from the side. People are so predictable. 

She received a phone call the following weekend. The man with the smiling face called. He was in her neighbourhood, visiting local prophets and following his strange attraction. She invited him over.

She couldn’t remember how she got there, but she was looking at the bracelet he was wearing and asked how he got it. He responded: “A little girl gave it to me. You were my wife in an old life.” She was sure there was more to that story than just that.

In the days that passed, she remembered killing him an infinite number of times. 

She also remembered mourning him in tears for the rest of her lives. It isn’t easy killing one’s brother.

They spent the night sleeping in each other’s arms. 

She couldn’t remember how she got there, but she was in her bed alone. It was a quiet morning with sunbeams coming through the leaves in front of her window. She couldn’t remember anything, but a single sentence said in a familiar voice.

“Remember me.”