Fugue # 25

Late afternoon, night approaching, crossing the sea toward the city...

(start with a bang)

So there was this guy named Paul, and he lived in New York. Paul was a normal guy - job, watched sports, read nonfiction, worked out - but he couldn’t (or wouldn’t) remember where he came from. The only thing he would (or could) remember was an explosion: a flash, followed by a deafening roar, the smell of smoke, and the heat from a fire. But the heat, he would say, was far away. He would describe running, across a field maybe partway, until his stomach turned, and he threw up from the effort or from the event. And then nothing.

If you asked for more, he would tell you about it like he was answering a reporter:

Did you see this? I may have.
Were you there? I may have been.
When did it happen? I can’t say.
Where? I don’t remember.

And you would have to settle for those answers, until you asked again.