Creative Writing: Foggy Memory

One day her curious mind got the best of her. She opened the box, and all the dark shadows of hunger, disease, war, greed, anger, jealousy, toil, and all the other hardships man would now have to face flooded out into the world.

later, she told investigators that she awoke when she heard a sound of two boards banging together. She jumped out of bed to investigate but all she saw was a flash of light down the hall.

Staring up at the house, she listened. The constant banging of the door against its frame, and the eerie sound of a malevolent snicker echoing throughout the empty rooms were the only sounds she heard.

Gathering up what courage she could, the child removed her blanket and allowed her feet to meet the cold, hard floor. The sobbing grew more distinct with the decreasing distance between the girl and the dark underbelly of the bed. Hesitantly, she stretched her arm out under the bed, for it was too dark to try to take a peek. Shaky fingers met with a wooden object, a box. It had not been there before, she was sure.

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

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.

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 bed, or at least what seemed like a bed to her.

She pounded on the wall and screamed at the top of her lungs, but eventually after her anger was unleashed she felt that it was futile and started to bite her tongue while tearing up.

When the memories resurfaced they are also accompanying with some amnesic moments that couldn’t be recalled. She would even mistake her boyfriend to be the abuser during a flashback (Survivor Blog, 2009). The slightest suggestions from the people around her then could also cause her to believe in them and to fill in the gaps of her memories (Rice University, 2016).

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

Jonas looked at her as he tried to swallow the lump that was forming in his throat. So many tears were shed today and so many more to come.

Shocked, Jocelyn could feel her head turning. The pain was reaching for her. She couldn’t bear it and with that, she hit the ground on the hard wooden floor of the hallway, and all she could remember was the crashing thud against the floor.

The words drifted back into her mind as she stood on the sidewalk. Ashes fluttered down, landing in her hair and on her clothes, smearing soot onto her skin and black across her vision. She should have listened.