View Full Version : Memories (language)

January 10th, 2012, 05:48 AM
I haven't written a short story in a very long time, and I'm trying to get back into it. I'm afraid I'm very rusty. I'm wondering if this is worth continuing. I also typically don't write in the first person.

Pain. I burrowed my head deeper into the pillow and tried to fall back asleep. I was so comfortable and sleepy. Maybe if I tried hard enough, I could sleep for a few more hours. Damn, my head hurt. It felt like someone had slammed my face into concrete or something equally hard. What had I done, fallen down the stairs? There was a moment of shock and fear as I realized I couldn't remember the events of last night. My brain rifled through my memories desperately, but yesterday was nothing more than a dark blur. I sat straight up, my muscles screaming in protest, to see where the hell I was. For one sickening moment the world spun, and I fought against a wave of nausea. Finally the room stopped swirling, and I could make out my surroundings.

I was in a bedroom, wrapped in a warm feather duvet. It was blue. It was not mine. The room itself was nondescript; tons of books, a desk, a fireplace... nothing special. I expected the room to be a hospital, or at least recognizable. Sitting up made my bruised head throb menacingly, and I raised one hand to explore the source of my agony. There was a huge knot on the back of my head, painful to the touch. The slightest brush of a finger to the area made me wince. I explored the rest of my body quickly, finding a bunch of small holes on one arm that could only have been made with needles.

The blankets hit the floor as I struggled to stand up. The rug was soft against my bare feet, and I was alarmed to find that I was wearing a pair of worn pajamas that didn't belong to me. The green garments were far too large, and I rolled them up a few times so I wouldn't trip and kill myself. A fire was merrily burning by the foot of the bed, keeping the space cosy. A window revealed a world covered in snow. Snow? My brain told me it was late July, which did nothing to help with my rising panic.

Uninterested in the rest of the room, I moved towards one of the doors, seeking the way out and answers. The first door opened to a bathroom, small but clean in a sterile way. I shut the door and went on to the next one, relieved to find a long hallway. The left side of the corridor was lined by huge windows, and what daylight winter had to offer streamed in. To the right was a long line of doors. How large was this place? I opened the nearest door only to find the room in complete disarray, books piled haphazardly on all surfaces. There were no visible exits. I continued on my way.

Before I reached the end of the hall, a tall man opened a door several feet away. Spotting me, he smiled and began to approach. He was bearing a tray laden with food. He looked happy enough to see me, shaking sandy hair out of his face to show a boyish grin. I didn't know him, and took the opportunity to grab a nearby lamp and brandish it at him. Kidnapper? Murderer? I wanted to find out, and fast. “Who the fuck are you and where the fuck am I?” I screamed, aware the light fixture didn't offer much in the way of protection. My voice came out weak and raspy, but my grip on my makeshift weapon was strong.

“First of all,” the man said calmly, his face arranged in a comforting expression: “please don't break that lamp. It's an antique.” I didn't put the lamp down. If it got broken, it would be on his face, in which case, it would be his fault. Seeing that I didn't have any plans of putting the lamp down, the man continued. He looked to be in his late thirties, spry enough to be a danger. “I'm glad you're feeling better. You gave me quite a scare.”

“I gave you a scare?” I spat. “Tell me where we are.” Confusion creased the stranger's face, and his blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You feeling okay, Sam? Maybe you should sit down -” “Where are we?”I shrieked again, and the stranger looked alarmed, but answered.“At home, where else? Look, you had an accident -”

Enough of this. I dropped his precious lamp and took off at a run in the other direction, darting through the nearest door. My fast pace made my head throb and nausea rise, but I continued running, finding another door, another room, another door. I wondered again how large this place was. After a few painful minutes, I deemed myself to be far enough away from the man and stopped to rest, taking in the sights. My breathing was a pathetic pant, which surprised me. I was normally in great shape. The bastard had probably drugged me. That would explain everything, wouldn't it?

The room I had run to was a kitchen, surprisingly small considering how many bedrooms I had rushed through. Then I saw my salvation: a back door. I would run off, find a nearby neighbor, and the cops could come and deal with this madman. I helped myself to a down jacket off of a hook and a pair of too large boots. The door thankfully wasn't locked, and I left in a hurry.

It was freezing outside, and I appeared to be in a backyard, judging by the frozen lake and dying gardens. I stuck to the side of the building, working my way around to the front. Snow infiltrated my stolen boots, but I ignored the chill and ducked under windows whenever I came to them. Hopefully he wouldn't see me, and would assume I was still inside. At long last, I made out the driveway and broke into an all out run, paying no attention to the car in the driveway; it would do me no good without keys.

“Sam! Wait!” I heard the dark haired man's voice behind me, and a sting of adrenaline allowed me to pick up my pace. I slipped on the icy driveway but continued my escape, flailing wildly to keep my balance. I was brought up short by a huge iron gate, the kind you see in creepy old films. To the left and right were huge hedges, and in my terror, I decided the best thing to do would be to climb them. My first attempt left me breathless – why was I so weak? The branches were too slender to hold my weight, and too thick to allow me to shove beyond them.

I felt a strong grasp on the sleeve of my jacket, and turned to fend off my attacker. “Get – the fuck – off me!” I screamed,clawing at him. He was barefoot in his rush to catch me, his strong features twisted in frustration. I slipped again on the ice and fell hard, my hip hitting the pavement. I continued to buck and shriek, but the man remained calm against my onslaught. I felt a strange pinch on my right arm, and when I turned to look, saw him push down on a syringe. “You bastard!” I gasped, before the dim winter day faded away.


When I woke up, I was right back in the same bed that I had first woken to. The blue duvet was pulled far up to my neck, and I wrenched myself into a sitting position again. A hand stopped me and shoved me back down. “Let's not repeat that little incident, hmm?”

I let my nails bite down into the man's flesh and he yanked his hand back hurriedly. Up close, he appeared to be no danger; his blue eyes didn't have that glint of madness, and I didn't see any blood from other victims on him. “Let me explain,” he said hurriedly as I made to get up. “You were in a car accident. You appear to have suffered some memory losses.” I laughed at him, the sound coming out twisted and scary. “I'm not an idiot. I have no other injuries, just a big old lump. Kind of similar to when you get knocked out. And I'm pretty sure they take you to the hospital after an accident!” This last part was screamed, and when he held out an arm to restrain me, I shoved it away angrily. When I climbed out of the bed, though, my feet refused to hold me and I collapsed. The bastard caught me and eased me onto the floor.

“Just listen to me!” he snapped. “You have been at the hospital. I just brought you home yesterday. You're not giving me a chance to explain!” I struggled out of his arms, distancing myself. The nearby fire warmed my back. I ripped the over-sized pajama sleeve up, revealing my arm. “And these needles marks?” I asked quietly, holding his concerned gaze. I'd love to hear his explanation for them. “These weren't made in just a few days.Or from a few IV tubes.” He knew I had him there. Fear overwhelmed me as his eyes filled with rage. I shouldn't have pushed it. I should have played along with whatever sick game we were playing until a chance presented itself and I could escape.

“You're tired,” he said, too calmly. “I'll let you get your rest.” And he stood and left, but I could hear the audible click of a lock being engaged from the outside of the door.


With nothing else to do, I turned my attention to the room. First, I attempted to break all of the windows, going so far as to throw a chair at them. Nothing. They must have been made of some stupid bulletproof material. Of course they were; look at this house. The man would clearly spare no expense when it came to locking up his victims.

Of the three doors, one opened to a closet, the other to the bathroom, and the one to the hall was locked. I tried to break the door down, to no avail. My muscles were weak, and I appeared to be thinner than I remembered. This hinted at a prolonged stay in this place and scared me more than the lock on the door.

I explored every part of the room, moving the mattress, looking behind the mirrors. All the places I would hide something. And there were things hidden, that hinted that this had been someone's bedroom. But not mine. Taped under the bedside table was an Altoid box full of brightly colored pills, none of which I recognized. There were ones with little smiley faces on them. I taped the box back in place and kept moving. Behind some books were a bunch of diaries, and having nothing else to do, I started reading them.

January 10th, 2012, 07:44 AM
Well it's got me intrigued... I'd like to see where the rest of it goes. Nicely done overall, the only line that was a little off was:

You appear to have suffered some memory losses.

I think you can just stick with 'memory loss' here.

January 27th, 2012, 11:11 PM
It was good and I agree with baba

February 13th, 2012, 06:51 PM
This was a nice piece. Very intruiging.