Reconstruction of Memory - Ariana Flores

There were really loud sounds coming from outside, so I scrambled from my favorite hiding place to look for my family. Bursting through the front door, I walked up next to my dad on the sidewalk. I craned my neck really far up, and I saw really bright orange flowers in the sky, but they were really loud flowers. They were there and then gone in an instant. I was in awe yet very afraid, so I hid behind my dad’s leg, which I had believed was the equivalent of an impenetrable barrier back then. With each pop that punctured the air, I jumped, gripping the bottom of his jeans tighter and tighter until I could feel my nails pierce my palms through the fabric. Apparently, my father perceived this as me wanting to get closer to the action because he lifted me up two stories, until I was the same height as him. I had a front row seat to something I didn’t want to see. I tried squeezing my eyelids shut, but the random pops were more terrifying when I couldn’t anticipate them, so I faced these mysteries with my eyes open, and when I did I was speechless. I turned around to make sure my father was seeing what I seeing, but now his face appears warped, as if time ran his features through a blender. I clench the hospital blanket in my hand tighter and tighter until I can feel my nails pierce my palms, willing myself to remember my parents’ faces, but the monotonous beeping is all that echoes through the room. I focus on the stark hospital lights as my blood inches through my veins. I know it's time for me to go, but a small naive part of me still wants to cling to life, for even 5 more minutes... I can see him clearer than ever before. His short, thin, curly strands, the valleys that gather at his eyes when he smiles, his tanned skin. He's wearing the same black jacket and jeans he did then. He takes my hand in his and the canons in his palms are so familiar. As we walk away, I can see how fleeting it was, much like those orange flowers in the sky.