Chuck's got us doing it again! We're using song titles to write a story... and I love it. This time, I went onto Youtube and clicked a random song arrangement from 2014... and I got 'Somebody That I Used To Know' by Pentatonix (covered)... very cool... I like their better than the original.
I’m not sure what it was that caused this problem, but every time I get a visitor here, they tell me they know me.
They tell me who they are.
They’re armed with photographs and wide, fake smiles.
I’m in those photographs with them standing next to me… and it seems as though I knew them at one stage, but …
…I don’t anymore.
After an hour, I’m exhausted by their eternal babbling about what we used to do, what we were together as friends and how we used to be as lovers… as family… as whoever we were to each other… and they leave wondering if they got through to me at all.
But really, who I am is somebody I can’t tell you anything about; mainly because I don’t know who I am.
I woke up here in the hospital and have absolutely no memory of my name, where I was born or who I was to this world.
The doctors have told me that my name is Emily Parstons, but I’m not sure if that’s a name they got out of a baby book or if that was something they found out through my ‘family’ who keep on coming here to see me.
But I’m sure they’re going to give up on me pretty soon as it’s not looking promising. The last time the two older ones came and visited, they left with the woman crying against the man’s shoulder. I heard her as I listened at the door of my room; it hurt me a little inside to know that they’re trying so hard and yet I still don’t know them.
I really wish I did because they’re such nice folks.
I didn’t hear what the doctor said to them, but they didn’t leave; instead a nurse came into my room and caught me out listening. She stood there smiling in the middle of my room, “What did you hear?”
“Nothing… it was all mumbling.” I replied.
She pulled out a suitcase which looked like it was from the 1960’s and opened the drawers near my bed, “They’re taking you home.”
“I don’t know them.” I sat down on my bed looking at my hands, “Why would I want to go anywhere with them?”
She sighed, her kind hazel eyes rested on my face, “It’s because this place isn’t doing you any good. Each time your visitors leave, you forget them… you need to remember them.”
“But I’m fine…”
“No, you’re not, Emily.” The doctor’s voice said from the door. I hadn’t heard him come in and I turned to see his tall form standing there, “Now, you’re being discharged and you’re folks are taking you home. Now they can help you and be in more control than they can here.”
“This is so unfair.” I muttered as the suitcase was closed and I heard the finality of clips snap shut.
I was going home with two strangers.
Two weeks past slowly and I sat in my bedroom of unusual clothes… of skirts made from denim… jeans and Doc Martens (both of which were far too tight and weird), but they felt good to wear, so I did.
Something about them made me feel like a rebel, so I put them on, looked around my make-up and found the bright pink eye shadow and black lipstick.
As I looked in the wardrobe, I found I was pulling out things at random and matching them to wear every day…
…this felt so familiar…
“Emily, how are you… oh you found your things.” The woman said at the door, “We left your room just as is, you know, to see if you’d remember anything when you came home.”
I turned from the outfit on the bed, “Who was I?”
She smiled walking up to me, “Honey… you were in punk rock band. And Emily is your birth name; it’s my mother’s name.” Looking at the clothes and how I had put on the make-up, she touched my hair, “The main thing is: how do you feel?”
“I still feel like I’m a stranger to you, and you’re a stranger to me.” I said, “But these clothes are familiar.”
Nodding, she turned and walked out of the room. I heard her sniffing as she descended the stairs. Looking around the room, I spotted a Glory Box I hadn’t been through since I returned ‘home’, so opening the lid, I looked at all the pillows and sheets inside it and found a tiny purple box stuffed in the corner of it. Picking it up, I saw a symbol on it of an Eye of some sort on it… this looked out of place in a room such as this; a room which was so wholesome and ordinary.
As I ran my fingers over its velveteen purpleness, I almost heard something from within it: ‘Open Me!’ and without a moment’s thought, I did!
“We’re going to lose her if you do that again!” she said.
“The purple box worked last time.” The doctor snarled at her, “Hold her down!”
My eyes snapped open and I look around me as I pulled against the restraints.
Tears blurred my vision.
What’s happened to me?
“Emily. It’s okay. You’re safe. You opened the purple box, and you’ll remember who you are now.” The doctor on the right of me said, his face hopeful.
“No, I’m not Emily. She is somebody I used to know; but now, you’ve awoken another… who has stayed quiet all this time… her more rebellious side.” I felt a grin grow on my face.
“Where’s Emily? Where have you put her?” the nurse asked.
Snapping a glare at her, I pulled on hard on the bars – so hard they shook, “Put her? I killed her… she’s not around anymore, now the eye on the box has set me free.”
Staggering back, the doctor and nurse exchanged frightened glances, as he asked, “What eye on the box? I didn’t put one on there for you to look for.”
“Pity… I saw it there…it said, ‘Open me’ and I did.”
I was the last thing he saw as I ripped through the restraints…
...the nurse bashed the button for security…
...as the demon within me transformed me into what they had feared all along!