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simtarts
114 jpgs - Rated PG - mild language
- HOUR ONE -
She wakes up slowly. The delicate fabric of a dream she barely remembers slips away when she rolls upright.
She remembers very little.
The room is vaguely familiar, but has no meaning to her. It has some walls, some small personal effects. Maybe they belong to her; maybe they don't.
The view from the window plucks a string of longing, a chord that reverberates in her throat.
Moss-covered banyan trees bask under a swollen moon.
Banyan trees - she remembers them. She remember what most things are called. Just not herself.
The mirror shows a stranger's face. A strange face: skin tinted green, eyes narrow and slanted, ears long and pointed.
"Don't worry. You look fine."
She mistakes the words for the muttering of her own psyche at first, then glimpses a small face in the mirror
A little girl.
She comes closer. The little girl has pointed ears, too, forking through her brown hair.
"Do you remember who I am?"
"No. I don't even remember who I am. I was hoping you would know, since you're a grown up."
"I'm sorry. I don't seem to know anything."
"Why are you in your underwear? Aren't you cold?"
"No. This is what I woke up wearing."
It doesn't strike her as strange. Whoever she was before must have been the sort of person who slept in her underwear.
"You just look cold. Sort of blue. Or green."
She stares at the girl. She only looks five or six but sounds closer to seven or eight.
"If it'll make you happier I'll put on some clothes."
She pulls open a drawer. Clothes are neatly folded inside - her clothes, she supposes. She grabs a few scraps of fabric off the top, then puts them on right over her underwear.
"Is this better?"
"You still look cold."
"Well, I'm not. What about you? Do you want to get dressed?"
"Sure. I'll show you the room I woke up in. It's got a bunch of neat stuff."
She follows the small girl through some kind of play room, stocked with whimsical toys. Whoever the child is, she's well-cared for.
Without thinking about it, she bends over to make the girl's bed, smoothing the sheets under the mattress. It's a routine that feels familiar, almost soothing.
The girl battles with the dresser...
The dresser wins.
She holds back a chuckle.
"Here, I'll help you."
"Does this outfit match?" She fusses with the sleeves. "I suppose it doesn't matter. You look clean and tidy, at least."
A peculiar expression crosses over the little girl's face.
"Thanks...Mom?"
"What? No. Oh, no." She pushes back the idea. "That's sweet and all, but I'm definitely not old enough to be your Mom."
The little girl smirks. "You don't even know how old you are."
"But I can feel it. Let's just go with 'big sister' and leave it at that, okay?"
A scuffling sound comes from somewhere. Whispered footsteps. The little girl jumps.
"Did you hear that?"
"Maybe--"
Then, an unmistakable voice cries out from deeper inside the old house.
The little girl sucks in a gasp.
"I definitely heard it that time." She whirls around, looking out into the dim playroom and into the hallway beyond.
They're not alone.
"I'm going to go check it out."
"Why?" The little girl pleads with her. "Let's just stay here and play."
"You don't have to come with me, but it would be better if you did. You don't want to be left here all by yourself, do you?"
The girl presses her lips together, then shakes her head wildly.
The hallway is dark. The dawn-light still hasn't crept into the heart of the house.
"I'll go first," She whispers.
"Who are you? What am I doing here?"
The old woman's voice trembles on the edge of hysteria.
"It's okay. We don't know who we are either. We both woke up that way."
The old woman straightens up, her face pinching together as she looks them over, appraises them.
"Get out of here! Get away from me! I know what you're here to do and I won't let you do it!"
"This is all your fault! You little bitch. Get out of here, now!"
Spittle flies from her lips with the force of her words.
She doesn't take the old woman's rant personally. Waking up with no memory is traumatizing thing.
Actually, she finds it surprising that she herself isn't more traumatized.
"Fine. We'll leave you alone."
On the way out, she locks the door to the old woman's bedroom. Just in case.
"Here you go - its the only cereal I could find, so I hope you like cornflakes. There were eggs, too, but since I have no idea if I can cook, I figure I'd better not try."
"They taste kind of old, but it's better than nothing. Do you think I'm supposed to go to school today?"
"Who knows?"
She wanders over to the window, drawn by a branch that occasionally whisks at the glass.
"I think losing your memory is as good as being sick, though, so you can skip."
The girl lets out a little laugh. "Maybe you're not my mom, after all."
And then there's nothing but silence - occasionally interrupted by chewing - until the girl finishes her breakfast and puts down her spoon.
"What are you looking at?"
"Just outside. I was thinking of going out there. To explore, you know? Maybe there's some gas leak on the property that's caused us to lose our memories."
"If there's a gas leak maybe you should stay away from it."
"Too late for that. But you can come with me, if you want."
The little girl decides to stay in, more eager to brave the crazy old woman upstairs than whatever might be lurking out in the woods.
So she steps out alone, and the only thing she knows is that she's not afraid.
The little girl watches from the window. It doesn't occur to her that she's too young to be worried about the actions of a full-grown woman. There's something too familiar about it to seem strange.
She drops a pebble down the old well out back.
No splash.
Which is fine, since she forgot to make a wish.
That only works with pennies.
Ah, right.
She fiddles with a spy glass. What does she know about spy glasses? Nothing, but all it seems one needs to do is look through it.
There's a whole town out there, quiet and yielding no answers.
What she really wants is to wander through the woods, touching that green, verdant light - so much like the light that hums under her skin.
She checks the mailbox out front, instead. There's no bills inside, no identifying names or markers on the box, either. Just a couple of dew-soaked newspapers. The Glendalough Gazette.
Glendalough. It's no place she's ever heard of.
From not too far away, someone's calling out. Words. A name.
Clara!
He breaks through the brush at a full run, stopping up short when he sees her.
"Clara! Are you all right?"
"Clara?" She rubs at her temple. The name seems to click into place. "Is that me?"
"It's Logan, Clara. You remember me, don't you?"
His voice is weary and pleading. She wants nothing more than to say yes, but she can't.
"Logan," he repeats.
She doesn't reply, and he slumps over.
"It's you too, then. And Harper? Has she lost her memory, too?"
"Who's Harper?"
"Your daughter..."
"So I am her Mom? What about the old woman?"
"That's your mother, Ruby. Ms. Lafitte, I mean, but you've always called her Ruby."
"Ruby hates me."
"She's confused. Everyone is. I can't believe you're so calm...."
"Especially because everyone else in town has lost it."
She watches him - Logan - as he talks. He knows her, that much is clear. Knows her well, even.
You could know him, too.
She wants to, very much.
He wants to show her something, he's sure he can make her remember - she just has to try.
So she follows him away from the house.
Sometimes, trust comes as easily as breath.
Ruby paces her room. She assumes that it's her room - who else could it belong to? It's a beautiful room.
She's beautiful, too. The mirror over the dresser told her so.
"But where did my bird go? Who would be so cruel as to steal my bird?"
The mirror in the corner is less agreeable.
"Why do you do this to me?" She touches her face, horrified at the dry, drooping skin.
"You get away from me, you hear? I never want to see you again!"
She tries the doorknob, but it doesn't budge. Locked tight.
"That little bitch!"
Harper peeks out the half-open door. She doesn't know where Clara went, but she can't see her from any of the windows, anymore.
She puts half of her foot on the grass. If it's just half a foot, it doesn't count.
If she's still half-inside, she's still safe.
"You'll let in flies."
Harper slams the door and faces her accuser. "No I won't!"
She pauses. The old woman's slippers shuffle across the floor.
"Good. Because only a very bad girl would do that, and I didn't take you for a very bad girl."
On tentative feet, Harper follows the ol woman into the living room, watching as she settles on the couch with a groan.
"As if I can't get out of a locked room!" She mutters. "I know how to look around for a key, you know. Found it right under my pillow."
Harper seats herself as close to the old woman as she dares.
Ruby flips through the television channels, skipping over the news and cooking shows until she gets to a soap opera.
"Look at them. All of eternity ahead of them, but they'll probably piss it all away, anyway. The beautiful ones always do."
As she speaks to Harper, something seems to glow in her eyes. Maybe it's just the glare from the television set.
"Did you know that I'm old? I looked in the mirror. I was so sure that I was young and beautiful. But all I am is old."
The beach is empty. Secluded. A place that everyone forgot about.
Logan stops and faces her.
"Do you remember this place? Does it make you feel anything...anything at all?"
His expression is urgent.
"Why? Did something happen here?"
"Just tell me what you feel."
She looks and tries to feel.
"Sad. I feel sad. Like I...lost something. Not my memory, I mean. Something other than that."
He touches her arm and gestures at the rocks, huge sentinels holding back waves.
"That's right. This is Lost Beach. See those rocks? People are lost there all the time. They drift between the two pillars and no one ever sees them again..." His voice is shaking. He can't finish his words.
"It's my fault. I only wanted to stop it, but I couldn't - and it's all my fault."
She doesn't know what he means, but she wants to comfort him, wants him to know that it will be alright.
"It'll be alright. Whatever happened, I don't blame you. I never will."
He stares at her. "That's just the sort of thing I'd expect you to say."
Inside the house: a battle of wills.
"Your rook will be mine!"
With a laugh, Harper moves her bishop and claims the piece. Ruby lets out a small snort but doesn't otherwise object.
"I don't remember learning chess, but I remember everything about it. Isn't that funny? Do'ya suppose it was you who taught me?"
She looks up through her hair, unable to hide the hope in her voice.
Ruby lets out a small chuckle. "Maybe, child. Maybe."
Clara stops in her tracks and has to fight from sinking to her knees. Cool mist paws at her legs. Bullfrogs croak from the rushes.
"What is this place?"
The struck chord in her throat fills her whole chest, a musical longing that she can't put a name to.
"It's the Dark Swamp."
"What? How can something so beautiful be called something so ugly? So uninspiring?"
He smiles at her. "You always complain about the name - always have. You've always loved to spend time here."
She turns to him.
"Do I spend it with you?"
The smile drops from his face.
"No. Not me."
He turns away from her and walks up the hill.
She had hurried ahead of him all the way back, refusing to let him see her stung pride. But she forgets about that when they walk through the door.
"I hope she's okay...we were gone a long time."
She follows the sound of voices, almost stumbling to a stop when she sees Harper crouched over a chessboard with the old woman.
Your mother.
Ruby.
"You?" Ruby eases to her feet. "You're back? I told you to leave me alone!"
"Listen." Clara tries to keep her voice calm, but there is an edge to her words that she can't seem to hold back. "There's no reason to get all worked up. No one's going to hurt you."
"Of course not. You'll just lock me in my room, you little cow-eyed hussy!"
"That's because you're the one who keeps yelling. You don't see anyone else yelling, do you?
"Slattern. Trollop!"
In the background, Harper lets out a squeak.
"Calm down, both of you." Logan steps between them. "We just want to help you, Ms. Lafitte."
Harper speaks up, her voice tiny and fearful.
"She was fine when you were gone. She wasn't acting crazy at all!"
Clara goes to Harper.
"Don't worry, it'll be okay. And, ah, you were right." She keeps her voice low.
"About what?"
"I'm your Mom."
"See? I told you you weren't THAT young."
Clara smiles. "Hush, you."
"Is he...my dad?"
"I don't--"
"Weak, amoral man!" Ruby's voice breaks the air. She points a gnarled finger at Logan.
"Unable to resist the temptations of the flesh! A fool for beauty and youth, you plant seeds in the unripened fruit!"
"No, I don't." His words are no longer soothing. "I may not be perfect, but believe me, I'm no fool...and all I ever do is resist."
The words are final.
"No, I guess he's not," Clara murmurs over her shoulder.
"Got it."
"Look, Ms. Lafitte...we'll just leave you alone with Harper, okay?" Logan takes a step backwards
"That's right. Go away and leave me alone! Get out of my sight! I want nothing to do with your kind!"
Ruby's shouting finally dies down, turns to grumbling, then, finally, to murmured conversation with Harper.
They sit silence, listening to the sounds of grand-mother and grand-daughter, cooking up dinner in the kitchen.
"I thought you might be her father." Clara finally says.
"I'm not."
"Maybe I just hoped so."
She looks at him. He's smiling, but she sees it now. For the first time, she sees it, veiled in his eyes.
Hurt. Wariness. What did she do to put it there? She almost doesn't want to remember.
But there is happiness there, too, almost enough to drain the hurt out of existence.
He approaches and she watches. Waits.
"Come with me."
He takes her back to Dark Swamp.
"I lied. Before. We used to come here a lot."
He touches her hands and she knows that it's not for the first time.
"I knew it. I knew we must have."
"We were just kids. You used to say that you were born in the swamp, all leggy and green with a crown of cat-tails on your head."
He sits down next to her. The air smells like sap and wet bark, as sweet as anything Clara can imagine.
She closes her eyes.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes. When you talk, it's like I can almost remember myself. It's there, floating like some dream, and I can get little glimpses of it"
"I'll keep talking, then..."
They lean back and drink in the darkening sky.
Clara pries her eyes open one more time.
"You promise you'll stay here all night? I'm afraid of what I'll wake up to."
"I won't leave the house. I won't leave you."
A few minutes pass before she finally relaxes, her breath taking on the deep rhythms of sleep.
Logan watches her sleep.
Maybe he can build her memory back, one story at a time.
Maybe they'll have a chance.
The sun rises and she slowly rolls upright, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
"How do you feel?" He asks.
She feels the suds of some fleeting dream dissolve from her mind and wisp away.
"Clara? Are you all right?"
It takes her a few seconds to realize that it's her that he's speaking to.
She comes to her feet.
"Clara?" The name seems to click into place. "Is that me?"
Logan doesn't know how to answer.
Some notes:
- This story is both set and "simmed" in Glendalough, a world created by
freudroid. The atmosphere is eerie and lovely and absolutely contributed to the gothic-mystery flavor of both the writing and the story. - I have planned several inter-connected stories that will take place in Glendalough, tying together the town's dark history with the families that live there.
- The story "Forget-me-not" should have two more parts (I think).
- This first part really more of a preface, because there's still MUCH more to be revealed.
- That said, I hope you will be back to read more! Comments are deeply appreciated, no matter how small. :)