Reconstruction Of Memory - Boubou Magassa

I woke up in a room with blaring lights and the pungent smell of medicine. There is a short old man with white hair and a coat to match. He tells me that he is a doctor and that I was brought in by one of the townsmen. I look to my side and notice that my right arm is missing. The memories came flooding back into my mind. Why does it hurt? The doctor then asks what happened to me.

I was young and wanted to write a book about a lonely mountain man. To gain inspiration I had moved into a cabin on a snowy mountain. I remember vividly the day of the incident. Why does it hurt? It was a regular day, just like all the other days. I had just left the town with some groceries. The path home was a treacherous one, cold and punishing as the snowflakes cut my face, and my visibility was cut down to a mere 5 meters. I only see a maze of trees ahead. Except for one tree, this tree was somewhat different. It was shorter and wider than the others. I wanted to examine it more for my book. I left the trail and headed towards this mysterious tree. When I finally got close enough to get a good look, it was no longer a tree but a bear towering over me. It let out a mighty roar. A chill ran down my spine as I was frozen in fear. I had then put my arms up to my face and felt a sharp pain as the bear’s jagged and unkempt teeth entered my flesh. All I can remember was the pain in my right arm. Why does it hurt? I had almost given up as my vision went blurry, I then remembered my pocket knife. I had grasped it and lunged the blade into the bears right eye. As the bear was stunned I had ran in any direction as long as I was running. I had ran for a couple miles. My movements grew sluggish and the feeling in my right arm had disappeared. I had peered overed, it was all mangled and didn’t resemble an arm anymore. My eyes could no longer stay open, my eyes wanted to rest, my eyes wanted to drift. I fell onto the snowy ground as my body began to freeze. I took one last look and saw someone approaching and tell my eyes it’s okay to rest.

Author’s Note

This is an original piece, I was never been attacked by a bear. I was inspired to emulate the repetitive language that Atwood had used. The repetition had allowed for a more poetic approach. I also incorporated the sudden change from present to memory.