heres a short story i write, hope you all like it! leave comments below!!!!
My name is Scott Harley. I am 23 years old. This is as much as I know about myself since I woke up this morning on the side of the road, in a ditch. I hold the little white card in my hand, clutching it tightly to my chest, reading it over and over again as if it would somehow tell me more. “Scott Harley” I whisper to myself. “Scott”.
I stand there for a minute or two, and then stuff the card into my pocket. I take one last glance at the sight of the red, mangled and beat up truck smashed into the tree and head off. To where? Who knows? I have nowhere to go. Nothing that is mine. I have no identity, no face, and no memory.
There’s a town nearby, it’s a small one with tiny compact houses and stores. I pick a coffee shop that is nearby and head on in although i have no money. The coffee shop is bustling with people clamoring about. Waiters are weaving in and out of throngs of people, trying to get to the tables they are serving, holding the platters high above their heads. Costumers sit at booths and holler for their orders. It is easy to blend in here so I stay. For what? I don’t know, but I take a seat and hunker down.
Suddenly my head starts throbbing and in my mind I’m being transported through time to a place I don’t know, a place I’m familiar with, but I can’t remember. It’s a park of some sort. There I am sitting on a blanket with a girl I think I know. She’s talking frantically and wringing her hands at the same time, but I’m not listening because I’m furious for some reason. I’m so enraged that I can’t say anything at all. I’m trying to suppress my anger, bottle it up deep inside my chest. She’s crying and blubbering things and tugging on my arm. My eyes bore into hers just once, only once. Her eyes are a murky, unforgettable blue. They are endless pits of tears, welling up and spilling out and streaming down her cheeks. Then I break our gazes and I stand up. But she follows. She keeps tugging on my arm and through slippery tears cries out to me, my name. The last and only words I utter is “Good-bye Emma Enderson”. Then I black out and all I can hear is a faint sound.
Snap. Snap. Snap... the sound of a heart breaking.
And the flashback is gone. As soon as I regain my vision I freak out. What the hell just happened? What was that? When was that? My brain is overloaded with questions and so few answers that I need to cool off so I push myself off the table that I’d collapsed on, and scan the room. No one saw me. I pull my hood over my face and slither out of the coffee shop.
The cold air slaps me in the face as I step outside. There are questions swarming inside my head. Who was that girl to me? How did I know her? What happened? Do I still know her? What was that sound? Through my confusion, I know what I must do. I have to find this girl. She has to tell me who I am and what I was.
I trudge through the streets, pondering on this idea, walking in slow circles, keeping my head low, and letting my shaggy unkempt hair fall over my face. Soon enough I find myself entering the public library. It’s warmer in here and easier to think. I search for a spot to be alone, somewhere not crowded with people. Seeing that the first floor was too busy with whiny toddlers and their overwhelmed mothers, I bound up the narrow steps, leading to the second floor.
As I reach the top of the stairs, everything goes black and I get this high-pitched ringing in my ears. I feel my body stumbling backwards, and my arms, which are flailing.
Screams echo off the walls of my mind, piercing my brain. I try to block out the sound by crumpling to the floor in a heap, holding my ears and squeezing my eyes shut. However, the screams continue. It doesn’t cease until I see us. It’s Emma and me. We’re laughing, hand in hand, swinging our arms and walking down a street. And there! We pass the coffee shop, the same coffee shop! However, we don’t acknowledge it; we are lost in our own little world. I’m not even mad this time, I’m elated, and so is she. I’m sure this was a while before the last memory, maybe a year, because our faces look younger and cheerier and her hair isn’t as long.
We keep on walking, down the street, we make a left, and then we keep on going for about two blocks, and we arrive at her house. It’s a small house on a hill and a big window in the front, next to the porch. I am guessing it’s about late afternoon. We talk for a while, and then kiss good-bye before I head off. I go back the same way that I came, take my red pickup truck and drive away with a glowing smile plastered on my face.
Three times, the same thing happens over and over again. I watch, as I get older, as she gets older, as we start to fight more, as she cries more, as I leave with grimmer expressions.
Snap. Snap…the sound of her door latch closing.
When I regain consciousness, I calmly get up, walk down the stairs in a robotic fashion, exit the library calmly and I run. I run for her house, left, straight, down the street. The pounding of my shoes against the pavement matches my heart beat. Everything around me is blurred. All I can see is colors in shapes.
Then I’m here, in the neighborhood I think is hers. I’m running around aimlessly but at the same time, hopefully, searching for her house. I can’t find it. Then I spot an old man crouched down in his front lawn, working in his garden.
“Excuse me, mister?” I call out to him, and jog over.
He turns around to face me. He’s a withered old man with oversized glasses perched on the bridge of his nose that he pushes up. His white and grey hair is tucked back under a cap.
“Yes? What can I do for you?” He squints at me as I approach him “You look familiar to me? Do I know you? My memory hasn’t been as good as it has always been lately. Sorry.”
“Um-I don’t think so” I stutter. “Can you help me find Emma Enderson’s house?” I plead.
“Emma! Emma?” He retorts. “Why would you need to find her house?” He pauses to wipe his forehead. “She’s been dead over a month now, killed by her own boyfriend they say.” His face scrunches up as he looks at me from head to toe. His face falls. “His name was Scott Harley…Now what did you say your name was son?”
The sound of her death.