Memory Therapy Poem by David Welch

Jack Ripton lived a quiet life,
west Kentucky, in rolling hills,
he'd been farming there for ten years,
all according to his own will.

He'd never been much for cities,
they did bad thing's to a man's mind,
some might love it, but he did not,
on his land some peace he could find.

He'd been this way back to his youth,
his father had worked land as well,
a hard job, yes, but quite honest,
the kind that kept the soul from Hell.

No sketchy deals, not dance with law,
just a product grown from the earth,
and people loved ‘organic' food,
were willing to pay him his worth.

This simple life would have kept on,
until one night, age thirty-three,
a nightmare burst into his mind,
so vivid he could not unsee.

He saw himself in an alley,
stabbing a young man in the neck,
screaming, "You call the cps on me! "
leaving the youth a bleeding wreck.

He shook it off when he awoke,
dreams were always strange anyway,
and he had to feed the chickens,
so he got up, started his day.

Jack had forgotten about it,
a week passed like any other,
but then he dreamed he raped a girl,
a frightened, young single mother.

That one disturbed him a great deal,
how could it not? Who did such things?
Was this some Jekyll and Hyde deal,
his subconscious misbehaving?

This pattern kept up for some months,
every few days a dark dream came,
his friends said that he seemed depressed,
something was off, not quite the same.

He hesitated to tell them,
how could you explain such nightmares?
Drugs and killing, beatings and rape,
what brought on such scenes of despair?

At six months Jack felt quite desperate,
went to town, to a therapist,
he'd never been to one before,
but who else could help him with this?

He sat down with Dr. Mason,
a woman in her middle age,
she had degrees from some good schools,
could she help him? He couldn't gauge.

The session didn't go badly,
he told her of all his dark dreams,
she listened, tired to calm his nerves,
despite all these visions obscene.

Afterwards Jack felt more relaxed,
but did not believe he was cured,
from what she said it would take time,
some more sadness he might endure.

But when he went back there again
a new figure sat with Mason,
a graying man with soft grin,
Mason said, "This is Doctor Johns.

"I asked him to be here today,
he's dealt with things like this before."
Then strangely Mason shot upright,
and hurriedly went for the door.

Jack watched her go, rather confused,
he looked to Johns and said, "That's strange…"
Johns nodded, said, "It will made sense,
there's much that I have to explain."

He had a folder in his hands,
on it Jack could see his full name,
it was quite thick, bulging even,
which to Jack seemed rather insane.

How could they know so much of him?
He had lived such a quiet life,
never arrested nor detained,
lived alone, did not have a wife.

But Johns looked up an said, "Have you
heard of implanted memory? "
Jack shrugged and said, "Like suggestion?
Like those mentalists on TV? "

Johns just shook his head and declared,
"Something more serious than that,
I mean reprogramming the brain? "
This brought a confused look from Jack.

Johns nodded and said, "Of course not,
they'd blank such knowledge from your mind,
but it's been done fifteen years now,
to help people from time to time.

"Normally it's a focused thing,
blank a trauma you can't escape,
last ditch when therapy won't work,
in rare cases it can take place.

"We implant a new memory,
something nicer to ease their soul.
it's not done often but something
helps a mind to regain control.

"But you…you were another thing,
look at this, tell me what you see."
He handed the folder to Jack,
who opened it atop his knees.

What he looked upon shocked him cold,
crime scenes quite bloody and obscene,
battered woman, men beat senseless…
the things that he saw in his dreams! !

And not just similarity,
People and places were the same,
in the back of it came mugshots,
his younger face being arraigned.

He tossed the file back at Johns,
"What the hell do you mean by this?
Is this some scam, some frame-up job?
Some god-damned photoshop bullshit? ! "

Johns stayed quiet, just shook his head,
"Everything you see here is true.
Jack Ripton committed these crimes,
all this evil was done by you."

Jack moved to object to this lie,
but then Johns just pulled up a page,
a picture of Jack, in a machine,
the date below ten years of age.

"You were facing a life sentence,
murder in the second degree,
with extra time for several rapes,
and several dozen robberies.

"Even out in San Francisco
the bleeding hearts were at wit's end,
it takes a lot to get hippies
to say you can't live among men.

"But you had one card left to play,
experimental therapy,
we blanked your mind, and replaced it,
you were second of the first three."

Jack couldn't believe such nonsense,
said, "You're not a shrink, you're insane.
I've been a farmer all my life,
And no one has cut on my brain."

Johns handed him a new picture,
it was Jack stretched on a table,
a hole had been cut in his skull,
with probes and wires it was full.

Jack balked, his mind fighting the sight,
he felt his anger grow again.
"If this is true then you're bastards—
How could you do this to a man? ! "

Johns raised a hand, said, "Calm down Jack,
this was not done to you by force.
You {volunteered' to have it done,
in full witness of all the courts."

He handed Jack another page
confirming that this was the case,
Jack stared at his own signature,
utter shock now crossing his face.

"That's why they sent me was out here,
Mason was a pupil of mine,
when she told me that you'd come in
I knew it was a matter of time.

"You see, old you thought this a joke,
thought all our techniques wouldn't take,
but you awoke another man,
to be specific: Ben Mandrake.

"He is a farmer, lives out west,
a good man if ever there was,
father, church-going, married long,
he wanted to help a good cause.

"See most criminals start off bad,
no father, poverty, rough life,
no knowledge of what good men are,
since they never were raised up right.

"That's why so many just go back,
they've only known anger and pain.
Your mother was a meth junkie,
you don't even know your father's name.

"You were in juvie as a kid,
spent more time behind bars then out,
not the kind to know a good life,
how to exist moral and proud.

"So we blanked out your memory,
Mandrake's memories were put in,
that's why, for ten years, you've lived well,
resisted temptation to sin.

"But early trials were shaky,
and we've noticed a minor trend,
in one-in-one-hundred reprograms
old memories come back again.

"You're not the first it's happened to,
that guy disassociated,
he's locked in an asylum now,
he'll probably be there 'till he's dead.

"The second guy who remembered
found it easy just to fall back,
preyed on children, locked up again,
his cell-mate shanked him in the neck.

"I guess that brings us back to you,
and the memories in your brain,
the process cannot be done twice,
the mind could not withstand the strain.

"Leaving us in this awkward spot,
I have no doubt more will return,
you'll have two sets of thoughts in there,
one saved you, one could make you burn.

"I suppose that this just makes you
like everyone else on this earth,
light and shadow both in your soul,
your choice as to which you deserve.

"Some might say that the man you were
is really your ‘authentic self, '
but then again that man you were
put countless people through sheer hell.

"I know what choice I would prefer,
but that is a choice I can't make…
Just know, if you choose your old ways,
you'll soon be a guest of the state."

He said nothing more after that,
just left Jack the scattered folder.
Jack sat there quite incredulous,
his mind racing in a great blur.

His memories were not his own?
His life belonged to another?
He saw his past in the pictures,
but it felt like something other…

Was this what he was meant to be?
A scumbag who had left lives wrecked?
Was this now nightmare, or quite real?
He did not know what to do next…