Ha Ha. He’s losing it. He can’t find it.
Ha Ha. He used to be able to open all these doors. Access all his memories.
Not any more. Not since we hid them.
He wants that thing. What is it? He’s sure it’s there!
He He. We know what it is. We know where it is.
He’s lost. Fumbling. Stumbling. Bumbling.
The fool doesn’t know his daughter from his wife.
Just sits there. Staring. Forgetting. Disconnecting.
We can feel him running along our corridors. We can see him. He can’t see us.
Think we might lock some more doors later.
This is my entry into this weeks 100 word challenge over at Friday Fictioneers.