what i tell you
[if three times is true, what's thirty? or three hundred?]
*
Every now and then, my aunt tells me a story. The same story, always, although she never seems to remember having done so before. Same story, each time, but over the years it's grown and grown, sprouting new details, reasonings for formerly inexplicable actions. And as it grows it creeps, edging closer to fact than fiction, solidifying with the retellings until I suspect that the next time it will be true.
I don't know whether to hope for or dread this.
Once, when I was young and stupid, I asked my aunt where the story came from, and she couldn't answer me. Literally. The question seemed to simply drop straight out of her head before she could even begin to think of what to say. Creepiest thing I've ever seen. Since then, I've kept notes on every iteration of the story, in hope that there might be clues about what's going on, though that hope has all but died by now.
*
Every now and then, my aunt tells me a story. The same story, always, although she never seems to remember having done so before. Same story, each time, but over the years it's grown and grown, sprouting new details, reasonings for formerly inexplicable actions. And as it grows it creeps, edging closer to fact than fiction, solidifying with the retellings until I suspect that the next time it will be true.
I don't know whether to hope for or dread this.
Once, when I was young and stupid, I asked my aunt where the story came from, and she couldn't answer me. Literally. The question seemed to simply drop straight out of her head before she could even begin to think of what to say. Creepiest thing I've ever seen. Since then, I've kept notes on every iteration of the story, in hope that there might be clues about what's going on, though that hope has all but died by now.