(Text chosen as a finalist in Globe Soup's January Micro competition)
As he lay tucked between the stinging smell of medicines and the beeping of the machines, he wondered: could it be that memories lived in the hairs on one's head?
Fingers running over his bald top remembered distinctly the tangle of curly hair. Inside, he remembered the sensation of buzzing memories, now gone, like petals exploded from the bud, then withered away.
Feverishly, he tried to conjure one last drop of sap from the core of a dying stem. The answer to this question: who was the beautiful lady who sat beside him on the chair and held his hand?
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