The devouring.

A nostalgic indulgence, may be the undesignated fortune of memory, only when salvaged, without the gratuitous profanity of cloying excess. I need not think, beyond the moment itself, unless desiring a previously inconspicuous novelty, from the subdued ebb of sobber reflection. In the end, is it not true, that we may yearn for the pleasant vestige of the 'picturesque' and all its fathomable derivations of warm sentiment, but yet not desire to exist within the otherwise vague parameters of antiquity? I remember, there was a woman who prayed with people, and would guide them, through some permeable locus of existence, so that their souls, would be present in those specific minutes of nostalgic quintessence. She often warned that we should not interact, nor procure anything from these apparitions, of noetic necromancy, for we would experience the "oblivion syndrome" which is an absorption into the abeyant womb of the subliminal. When I could afford the costly service, I wanted to speak to her

"Sometimes the memory, lacks the pristine rudiment of definitive proportion, through the prospective diagrams of what was, because the enduring distractions of life are multiform. I can give you a sensual, wholistic experience of the past, by unlocking this abundant threshold. In this experience you will be an abstract observer, and must not interact with neither yourself, nor the residence of the eon" said the old woman, as she shut my eyes with her marble fingers, after I implored to see my mother, whom I had last seen as a youth.

"Remember that if you stay long, your conscious will seep into this unsullied projection of memory and this cunning science shall turn into tragedy, if your fears, ingress" and after these words I was off, to a warm summer. There she was, my mother, a young lady of refinement, and pleasant humor. She plays with me, in the park, but at length she retires to a bench, and retrieves her sun hat from her head. Something is wrong she is melancholy, but what brought her such sadness? I ran unto her, and embraced her but it was a mistake alas! She grimaced, and receded from me as she grasped the child into her arms, but her physiognomy distorted and her mouth elongated as of a crocodile. She widened her jaw and I saw her masticate the poor thing,

"Why did you leave me" I screamed as the world seemed obscured by a depressing, black miasm.