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When I was a child, I had been in a terrible car accident with my mother.  The details of the accident are still beyond me, as I hadn’t been informed, too young they gathered, or too traumatized.  This is how I always remember it, if you could call it a memory at all.  My mother never died that day, though I’m not sure if there was in fact an accident or not.  The truth of the matter is, my mother only recently died.  We were in a car.  There was an accident.  She was decapitated.  I survived.

I was tucked within, completely and miraculously unharmed.  I was able to crawl out from the wreckage, discovering the route to be all too slippery to make it simple, only to find as I stood on solid ground, that I was drenched with the thick blood of my mother, whose head was propped upon the double lines of the road, staring directly into my eyes.

Her mouth said something to me.  I couldn’t understand what.  But I know my mother’s head spoke to me, no matter how many doctors have told me otherwise, and I know now what she said.  She said “save Fay.”  When I had looked into her eyes that final time before the whining of sirens hollered in the distance, I saw death…or something.  It was as if she displayed it for me, to show me where she was going.  It wasn’t peaceful at all, however.  Instead, what I saw was such a blackness, inside which shadows were born of themselves.  It was an abyss that sucked mind and soul like a vacuum into infinite imprisonment.  I didn’t think it was hell, although since I was raised Catholic, one would assume that would be my first guess, but rather, I know it was something else, something worse than what hell could ever be, because unlike the mythical underworld, this was a reality, and my mother’s head projected it before me, forcing me to confront it…

…Raised Catholic?…that can’t be true either.  I was taught evil, raised in evil, there is a reason for this misconception, another piece of my twisted riddle of a life…

…Contrary to my initial memory, the accident occurred an indiscernible amount of time ago.  A month, maybe two, or three months have passed since then.  We were driving in a car; she reached over and touched me sexually.  It was a memory from my childhood yet I was an adult when it happened.  She touched me sexually and we crashed.  I don’t know if we veered off the road, or if there was even another car involved in the accident.  She put her hand between my legs and touched me sexually.  The distress this provoked within me was crippling.  She was my mother and I was a grown man.  I couldn’t perceive how she would have a sexual attraction to her own son.  It was a painful betrayal that was too familiar to me.  Familiar because it brought back memories of my childhood, which consisted of a series of abuses and exploitations that I was the victim of.  It was a childhood concealed from anyone but my tormentors.  I existed to no one otherwise, nor did I exist for any reason but to be abused.  That was my birthright.

The memories are still vague, all but one thing that I recall clearly now.  My mother gave birth to Fay.  Fay is both my sister and my daughter.  It was the reality of the world outside of this vile life I was subjected to that altered the falsities.  As I was gradually acclimated to society, like a wild animal rehabilitated back into a more natural habitat, I was being brainwashed.  My memories were being erased and twisted.  And though it is only beginning to make sense, there is much that isn’t palpable.  The pieces fit together too conveniently and I wonder if it isn’t a manipulation upon a manipulation.  However shrouded in deceit, there is fact immersed within the shuffled fragments of my life’s synopsis.

I have no choice but to continue my search from the beginning, hoping that along the way, the authentic truth will emerge, and in effect lead me to Fay.