Memoria

Notes From The Author

Suggestions, comments, complaints are very much welcome with this story, it was my most recent, and I'd be more than happy to hear what you have to say.

The Pasta

The night was young. As stars glittered from overhead they showered the city with lights, the moon was nowhere to be seen. Frost crept upon the surface of the windows that yielded the warmth of a fire from it. His breath could be seen, it swirled from his mouth and nostrils like smoke that was soon blown away by the soft, chilling breeze of the freezing air.

He could hear the snow and ice be crushed under his feet as he slowly walked down this lonely street of cobblestone and solitude, but his mind was elsewhere. He enjoyed the cold, the numbing sensation that traveled seemingly to his very soul was a sensation that alcohol could not imitate. He wanted to be numb. He didn’t want to feel what he has felt for so long tonight, not any night, and especially this one.

The absence of the moon only tormented him, he tried to keep the fact as far back in his mind as possible, he didn’t want to think, to remember. He suddenly found himself at a park, standing in front of a fountain of ice and cement, surrounded by trunks and branches. He would have thought this place would be calming, but the cold could only numb so much as he soon tasted a salty tear pass over his mouth.

Weakness, it was the first thing that came into his mind. He expected so many things of himself that he must have lost sight of what he could have actually achieved. He didn’t want to be here anymore, this place, this time, he wanted to disappear, and feel nothing anymore.

The thoughts and memories that poured into his mind brought no comfort to him. They were no longer sweet, but instead haunting, seemingly mocking him in his current state. How happy he was, how happy life seemed, showing him how stupid his thoughts were in light of today’s reality. He wanted it to stop, he clutched his head and yelled in defiance, but only to collapse on the floor in hopelessness.

He woke up the next morning, but he didn’t know where. His vision was blurred, but from the cold he seemed to still be outside, he first tried to recall what had happened shortly before he felt asleep, but failed. He tried to look around, but suddenly he headache demanded that he stay in place. Seemingly for hours he remained in his dazed state, eventually, he could see clearly where he was. He was next to a building, no longer at the park where he was the last he recalled. The sunlight of the day warmed his face despite the cold, but there was no wind to speak of, seemingly replaced by the moon.

When he had to strength to move to, he regained his footing and surveyed his surroundings, and what he found surprised him. Seemingly he found himself at an entirely different city. Although the buildings were made of the same material, the streets were in a different formation, as though he were in a different part of a city. He tried hard to conclude where he was at but his headache still prevented him from thinking clearly.

After some unknown time, he found himself in a bar. The fire nearby warmed the whole room with the scent of oak and charcoal, but the room itself was eerily silent. He went to the bartender and asked him where he was, but his answer was only silence. After awhile to adjust his eyes to this new environment, he discovered that the man who spoke to early was dead.

He jumped back from the stool it shock, the bartender had remained standing because a pole was lodged through his waist into the wooden wall behind him, and when he looked around, he found the surrounding residents in a similar state. He could only make out some of what he saw, for most of it was too gruesome to comprehend, their corpses were strewn across the floor as though they were ripped by some animal and the remains were piled in a stack in a corner next to the fire. He couldn’t bare no more and stumbled out of the bar as quick as he could, he kept running until he could no longer run. He collapsed on the middle of the empty street in exhaustion, when he got up he noticed there was blood on the street were he had just collapsed on. Immediately he looked to his hands and found blood. Shortly after everything turned into a blur.

When he could finally gain consciousness of his actions he found himself in a house, which only confused him more. When he looked around, he saw blood all over a calendar on the kitchen wall, when he looked at it, he didn’t want to believe it. It had been three months since he had last recalled anything.

He went to leave but found he had accidentally kicked something on the floor, he was wet and heavy and a cold and sinister shiver went down his spine. He didn’t want to look down, and when he finally did he found a woman on the floor. She was covered in blood, seemingly from the cuts and stabs all over her body that stained her clothes with crimson red. He forced himself to step over the body and find the door. As he reached for the door knob, he found a knife in his hand, which he threw onto the ground as though he were condemning it. He tried calming himself with deep breaths, and it did allow him to collect his thoughts, what had happened that time before? He tried to remember, but every time he tried, a headache out of nowhere stopped him in his tracks.

Just what is happening to me? Why can’t I remember anything? These were one of the many questions he thought to himself that had no answer in response. He didn’t know what was going on, he didn’t want to know either. He reached for the door knob once again and opened it, and found himself face to face with a man.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Asked the man, suddenly his vision went blurry, and was unable to identify who he was, all he could think was that this stranger was in his way. When that stranger tried to enter the house, he suddenly lost control of his body, grabbed the knife and plunged it into the stranger’s throat. He tried gasping for air, or maybe even scream for help, but all that left his mouth was blood, the same that streamed down his neck like a stream down a hill. He repeatedly stabbed the man until he stopped struggling, all he could do was watch in horror as his body killed the stranger. He couldn’t remember anything else.

He woke up by the fountain, the same fountain as he had collapsed, looking as though he had traveled back in time. The stars glowed his surroundings in the absence of the moon and the soft breeze chilled the night air around him. Suddenly, he knew what was going on. “This is your fault, wasn’t it?” He yelled into the night, as though he were expecting some response. But he already knew the answer, they were the same thoughts he tried to forget so long ago. “I don’t want to..” he couldn’t finish his sentences, because shortly after he began sobbing uncontrollably, he didn’t want to do anything anymore, he was sick of everything he did, sick of everyone, he just wanted to be gone, and to never seen again.

“Why are you doing this to me?!” He screamed into the cold air, he began crying and wailing as loud as he could like a dying animal, with animosity and rage twisted with sickness and self-hatred. He curled up into a ball, all he could do was remember what had happened to him. “I hate you!”

It was long ago, a time where his life and future were still bright and ahead of him. A time where responsibility and jobs hardly meant anything to him, and all that mattered was that he felt secure and loved by his peers. He remembered the joy, the smiles, the laughter and happiness with his life, he could live that way forever, he thought.

But those days, like any other, came to an end. He remember the bright lights, the smell of sterilized tools and equally cold faces hiding behind goggles that chattered amongst themselves, of what they should do to this boy. He didn’t want it, the things they did to him, it hurt, and every plea for mercy he cried only became a prayer for a tomorrow that wasn’t ever guaranteed.

He was eventually thrown away, like the corpse of a dissected animal. Only to be adopted by a foster home by faces that now seemed cold and full of hatred like the men from before. He hated them, he hated everyone for what was done to him and a lack of action to stop it from happening. He found himself in an empty apartment where everyone was murdered and ran as fast as he could away from everything he remember into the moonless night, and he’s been here ever since.

When he finally had the strength to get up, he knew what he had to do. He knew there wasn’t anything left to do, his life was before any of it began, he was already dead. He found himself by a bridge, it was old and made of metal beams and wires that hung over a large river hundreds of feet below. The wind was strong and blew against his face as though it defiance of what he was about to do, as he walked to the side of the bridge, as that was between him and the depths below was the floor his feet were on. He suddenly had a terrible headache, it was enough to split a man’s head into two pieces, but he fought as hard as he could, it was screaming in his head now, but it was already too late.

The faint breeze of the chilling wind was almost numbing.