Memory

About this story: I was close to my Grandparents, they were another set of parents to me. My grandmother died suddenly and that seemed to trigger my grandfather’s dementia. I talked to him a few times from in here as he was slipping away. Some stuff went on with the family and they left him at a hospital in St. Croix because they couldn’t take care of him. The hospital discharged him and sent him to a homeless shelter. The family stateside all had excuses as to why they couldn’t help and blamed each other, and the whole time, he was there, lost and alone. I know via someone who contacted the shelter, that he woke up every day and had a panic attack, would go to the hospital, get discharged, and do it again, every day. He was the most kindhearted person I ever knew, and it breaks my heart knowing, imagining what he must have gone through. I’m sure he’s passes away by now, I have no way to know. I’ve stopped talking to all the family I had who left him hanging, even after the shelter workers offered to fly him stateside. It haunts me. This being said, I started this story wanting to write a fantasy story, and I couldn’t help but shake the feeling of what my grandfather, John, must have felt, and those thoughts slipped through. Instead of fighting it, I let it become the story.

The sky above was painted in hues of crimson, with twin moons hanging heavy, casting their strange, pale light across the endless sea of waist high grass. The soft, ghostly voices of the grass swaying around me as I walk, every step pulling me closer to the towering purple weeping willow in the distance. It stood alone in this strange land, its dark, draping limbs brushing the air, caught between worlds. Shadows danced around my feet, stirred by an unseen wind, weaving in and out, like creatures born of the twilight.

I was nearly upon the tree when a voice – disembodied, unfamiliar – whispered through the air. Then, the flash came, a searing, white-hot burst that blinded me. When I opened my eyes, the world was not my own. I was not myself. I saw through the eyes of another, felt their thoughts stir in my mind, their emotions mixing with mine like oil and water. I had become someone else; this was my only chance. This is what I had come here for.

The field was gone, replaced by cold. So much cold. The snow crunches beneath my boots, sharp and unforgiving, each step like metal scraping on bone. The trees that surround me sagging under the weight of their burden, their branches heavy with the unrelenting snow. I walk through the forest, my breath shallow, each gasp feeling as though it might be my last. The air was thin, almost starved of life, and the trees themselves seemed to groan under the weight of their silent misery. Occasionally, one will dump its load of snow with a muffled thump before snapping back, like a dying breath in reverse.

I press on, though the chill gnaws at my bones. There is no safety here. Not yet. I cannot rest. Not until I am far enough away. Not until I am out of Their reach.

Night comes, and with it, the endless dark. My fingers fumble with the flint, numb and useless as though they belong to someone else. Finally, a spark catches, and the fire roars to life, chasing away the creeping cold. I huddle close, setting up a small tent, though sleep was still elusive. Dawn came to soon. Before the light could reach me, I was packed and on the move again. Moving away from what had been. Moving towards what would be.

The pain is unrelenting. The insides of my legs are raw, chafed beyond repair. Snow creeps into my boots, an icy invasion that leaves me half numb. Another fire tonight, though this time, sleep won’t come at all. There are whispers on the wind, voices that slither through the darkness, trying to worm their way into my thoughts.

They won’t succeed. They can’t. My mind is my own. My memories are my own. No one – no thing – can take them from me. Not now, not ever. I know Their secrets. I know who they are, and I know why they hunt me, but I am more than they could ever understand. I have mastered their Art, risen above them, and with the knowledge I hold, they will fail. Again. And again. And again.

I will find you. I will bring you back, my love. I am John A. Leonhardt, I know the truth of this world, and nothing can stop me.

I awake multiple times throughout the night, broken dreams, mostly of the woman I have loved since we were children, I relive our life in my dreams, and in those dreams, I feel truly alive, though it seems like hell every time I reawaken to this bleak world, this gloomy existence. Every time I awaken, I can hear the voices clawing at my mind, trying to break in. Never will I let them in, even after I draw my last breath, my death, I will continue to guard my memories.

By the time the night has passe and I’ve started on my way once more, I realize that the whispers are more than just sounds – they feel sentient, and not only that, I can feel their malicious intent with every fiber of my being. I know that they would take everything, even my past, if they were given half the chance.

As dawn breaks, I catch glimpses of memories in the trees, it’s hard not to be drawn to them, memories of friends, of family. I see people I once knew, beckoning to me. I relive some of my happiest moments – then snap out of it. I know they almost had me, that they took something from me, some little piece of my past was now missing, not just from my memory, when they took it, they removed it from the past, from existence itself. The memory they took ceased to ever have happened. 

That was to close, thankfully, I keep Her guarded deep down, to get to her would be almost impossible without destroying me completely. My legs are in agony from the chafing and the blisters that have started forming, but I continue to push forward. I know that I’ve lost something from my past, and I grieve for it, even though I don’t know what I’m grieving for. I can feel existence strain. Only so much can be cut out of existence before reality itself begins to fall apart. Sometimes it feels like a hopeless fight to get her back, but she was my other half, as I was hers, and I know they in my shoes she would be doing the same. I press on, the goal seems distant but vital, the threat behind me feels real as the snow beneath my feet, though it’s the threat ahead of me that has me worried the most.

 When night arrives, I make another fire, I eat from the dwindling supply of food, and try to sleep, though it still eludes me. The whispers are closer now, swirling around my camp. I clutch tightly to my memories, particularly to those of you, my love. I refuse to lose you, to forget you, no matter how hard They try to erase you, from my mind, from existence.

As I’m walking once more the next day, I can sense a change. I am no longer alone in this land. The Whispers belong to something, something that’s stalking me through the trees. I know that they are constantly observing me. Having existed for most of eternity, they don’t know fear. I feel a flicker of fear, knowing now what these beings truly are, but I steel myself quickly, confident that I retain more knowledge than they are aware of.

You see, when I was young, I learned quickly, that in itself was power, but I also had the ability to see and observe that which others could not, and thus I stumbled upon hidden things and was able to learn what wasn’t available to everyone else. I learned the secret workings of many hidden things. In my observations, I had unknowingly watched these stalkers, and their likeness, at work. They are called the Palaios Manari. I learned how they altered memories and minds, the past, present, and future, to fit their own needs. I’ve seen it many times and have many stories I could tell of the adventures I’ve had throughout my long life.

The Palaios Manari don’t know that I have an advantage over them or the other entities chasing me. You see, I understand their art, their tricks, and I know how to manipulate them using their own tricks. Sometimes as easily as feeding them false memories, of which I’ve created quite the stockpile, just for such an occasion. Now starts a dangerous game of survival and strategy.

As I walk through this endless snow, I begin to question the nature of this reality. I can sense something deeply wrong with the fabric of reality itself. The sky, the trees, the cold – they all feel like a thin veil hiding a darker, truer existence. I can almost tangibly feel the veil slipping. My thoughts can’t help but return to my lost love, and as they do a real plan begins to take shape. I will bring her back.

The closer I get, the more my memories of her come to the surface. They are growing more vivid. I see her face, I hear her voice, I remember the life we shared. I push them back down, out of danger. They help fuel my resolve to continue, despite the odds. I know for sure that there is a way to bring her back, and that this journey through this endless snow is just part of that plan.

One day, just after dusk, I encounter one of my stalkers. It bravely emerges from the trees, shadowy and formless, its whispers growing louder and more insistent. I stand my ground. It tries to entice me; to draw me in with false memories, it tries to make me remember it as part of my past. I know how to defeat it easily, I let it feed. What I fees it though, are fake memories that I’ve kept for just such an occasion, and with them I send a poison, a little trick I learned from a friend. It’s not long after I give the stalker a taste of its own medicine that he’s left wandering, mindless, nothing but an empty vessel. He will bother me no more. There are more out there though, and most not so ignorant or brazen as this one. As I make my way, the landscape begins to shift. The snow becomes deeper, the trees more twisted and gnarly. Shadows grow bolder, creeping closer to me. This world is pushing back against me, trying to make it harder to go on. The line between reality and the otherworldly blurs as my journey becomes more surreal.

Exhausted and starving, I can feel my body slowly beginning to give out. I know I must rest soon, but the whispering has intensified, pressing on my mind with greater and greater force. I know I’m reaching a critical point in my journey, both in terms of survival, and in my quest to bring back my love. I have come to a crossroad. In order to continue I have to barter, I have to sacrifice something, the whispers hint at the way forward, but the cost may be too high. I have to relinquish part of my soul, though my memories will remain, for now.

I have been unable to uncover a hidden truth about this world I’ve been traveling though, one they’ve tried to keep from me. This place isn’t just a forest, or a conduit, or just a portal to a god, but it is also a trap. The Palaios Manari are not just mere creatures, they were created as servants to the old gods, and they are all trying to stop my from achieving my goal. The depth of their conspiracy against me is mind blowing.

Determined, I push forward despite the odds. The trees, their tangles of spider webbed branches are restless, it’s almost as if they are fighting amongst themselves as they sway against the chilling wind. Reality is restless. I feel reality clench right before the attack.

A horde of the Palaios Manari, emerge from every direction, a mind-blowing amount, as if a dam has broken loose and let out a flood of demons. Whatever god sent them isn’t holding back. They attack both mentally and physically. Trying their best to do what they were made to do. I defend myself well. First, I draw a sword I’ve kept hidden for decades, a sword seemingly made of pink flames, the legendary Eris. Then I send out more of my poisoned fake memories to those trying to break my mind, as they go down, I keep attacking the rest of the Palaios Manari, soon the tides have turned and I’m chasing down the last one. Now in a field of bloods snow and demon body parts I realize that I’ve lost years’ worth of memories, though none of the ones I kept secreted away. My love is the only thing guiding me, driving me now, it’s all I know, the only light in this growing darkness.

I realize I’ve reached the edge of the forest when the snow thins and a strange, shimmering veil appears before me. I believe this veil is the physical barrier between life and death, the key to brining my love back. Here is the part I’m unsure of most, passing through it could mean losing myself entirely.

I stand before the translucent, shimmering veil, torn between the desire to reunite with my love, and the fear of what lies beyond. I hear voices urging me not to cross, telling me that it will cost me everything, that there will be no reunion. These gods are liars. It is them who speak to me now. They only reinforce my belief that going through is the right, and only, thing to do. I hesitate, knowing that once I step through, there may be no return. In these final moments, I see Judy’s face, both as I’m forced to unlock my memories of her, and as I step through the veil into her embrace, and into the unknown.

The sky is painted in hues of crimson, with twin moons hanging heavy, casting strange pale light across the endless sea of waist – high grass. The soft, ghostly whispers of the grass as it sways against an elderly man who walks through the field, every step taking him closer to the towering purple weeping willow in the distance. At first it appears to stand alone in this strange land, but then the old man notices a beautiful old lady sitting against its trunk, sobbing under the dark purple draping limbs.  The old man approaches her and asks, “Why are you crying in such a beautiful place as this?”

She wipes her eyes, “I’m lost and confused, I don’t know how I got here, I don’t even know who I am!” Inside, she is happy to see such a gentile face. She asks the old man “Do you have any idea where we are or how we got here?”

To which the old man looks around for a long moment, looking deep in thought, then replies “No, it’s a funny feeling, everything feels right, but I can’t remember a damned thing!”

The End