Creative Writing: Foggy Memory

Inside the small house it was pitch black and completely silent. So dark, in fact, that one could not see their own hand in front of their face. The deeper into the house, the darker it became. Now into the family room and up the stairs.A distinct sound of scratching emanated from the door at the end of the hall. Inside, the room seemed to belong to a young girl, but only because the little girl nestled in bed deemed it so.

She had fallen down. Oh, she had fallen down so hard, scraping her knees and cheeks and elbows, bruising her shins and skinning her palms. She should have listened, she should have known how to get up.

Jonas whispered, “We're going to be ok... I promise.” It was an empty promise, but it was all he had to offer. Jonas instinctively I remember seeing the victim’s black eyes, before they put the lid on, with the pupil occupying most if not all of the iris, leaving no color. When I looked at those eyes I seemed to reencounter the memory of death and I realized the constant murder my society committed and I broke even more. The man releasing me turned towards me, with his eyes showing no guilt. His empty eyes reminded me of death, it made me realize how they are never truly alive. I wanted to escape, not to die. So I asked the man if I could do it myself. I turned my back to him so he couldn’t see me dump the black content out. I put my head on the pillow and closed my eyes. I remained frozen as they put me into the box. I was claustrophobic , but too afraid to say anything as they threw me down the trash shoot. As soon as the box landed, I threw open the lid and saw myself knee deep in boxes. There not boxes, not objects, I reminded myself, there bodies. They’re people. I eventually got out of the seemingly endless white, perfectly arranged boxes, with each step I took sinking into the boxes and feeling the presence of a body. Once I got out I ran and I cried, my tears seemed to be endless even against the cold. Now I’m here and I refuse to shed tears over a murderous society. I have nightmares and still see myself stepping on those innocent people. Some children that didn’t even have a chance to live” she finished.

Complete silence. Terror seized control, and she ran at breakneck speed until reaching the safety of the open air. Adrenaline pumping through her blood, she stood beside the car gulping in short, shaky breaths.

I looked around. "Yeah, maybe." She threw out her cigarette and nodded to me before walking back into her room. I stood outside, just watching room five. *What the hell could be in there?* I leaned against the door, put my ear to it and I listened. It was silent for a short while, but I heard a muffled knock come from inside. I continued to listen. Another knock. Then another knock. And then, complete silence. I kept my ear at the door, just listening, waiting. Another knock, but this time, it was against the door. I jumped back, shocked by what had just happened. I knew there was somebody or something in there and the fact that I didn't know who or what it was, had me completely horrified. I just wanted to get far away from that motel.

A trickle of fear had her lying motionless with her eyes closed, straining to hear the slightest noise. A deep sigh of regret and the pressure of a body by her side made her acutely aware that she wasn’t alone.

“...Oh fuck.” Her voice was like a whisper as the jail’s bars slowy closed upon her face. her vision was still dizzy, and she had not eat anything for hours. turning her head back, she tried to walk. clumsy steps were the best she could do, occasionally almost stumbling to reach

The scream for help strewn her nerves everywhere, and her hands now shook with fear. As she looked ahead to the large bay window again, she saw something she hoped to never see again.

There was a burning sensation going down her cheeks, they wouldn't stop. And no matter how hard she tried to hold it back she just ended up sobbing harder, taking large stuttering breaths every second. She could barely see, the tears clouded her eyes and she felt oh-so weak.

I sat up in bed gasping. I had remembered something. The night of Lizzy's death, when I had been knocked out, I had heard his voice. The words were muffled but I knew who the voice belonged to. The back of my head throbbed.

Perhaps it’s an abnormality in the disease, a sort of selective memory she has retained where she cannot remember my birthday but she can recall the melody to her favorite folk song. Or perhaps it’s a determination deep inside that refuses to part with

A heart beat pounds in her ears. Yet it isn't her own. Strong arms are wrapped around her as she sobs. Muscles flex as they wrap tighter, trying to squeeze out her pain, but instead cause her to yelp. The grip loosens as she backs away slowly. Her head shakes

Sirens began to echo into the scene. Meanwhile, they both began to mumble and screech from the pain, panic and discomfort that they endured.

Casey shot up from her sitting position her uneasiness mounting. Her eyes darted to the landing and then to the entry floor. Her voice lowered to a hushed whisper, “Was it a robbery?” “That’s what they thought at first. But the man was wearing an expensive suit and had a large

He clicked on the flashlight; its wide beam illuminated the room again. Shining it left he saw near him the light panel, its door juxtapose from the box. Knowing the killer would have never touched this he reached