Amnesia Custom Stories Novels & Stories

Her whimper of pain, her trembling voice fighting back tears, it sounded familiar, especially that thick Boston accent. My mind spun a complete 360 trying to place her voice, but nothing came. The fog was too thick. As someone suffering from Transient Global Amnesia (TGA), triggered by acute stress and sudden sensory deprivation (total darkness), I tend to lose control over my impulses and forget everything I once knew during episodes like this. My last episode was two months ago when a sudden blackout occurred in my mansion. I ended up sleeping with some wretched maid who later tried to blackmail me with pictures, and I had her thrown into the Adriatic Sea with concrete shoes and a damn bul

I knew the secret now—but how was I supposed to expose it? Smash the wall open? No. That would only put me in the same humiliating situation as before, letting him twist the story and paint me as mentally unstable. Staring at the markings on the blueprint, a plan slowly formed in my mind. I spent several days preparing. Then I procured a special type of smoke compound—completely harmless, but with an incredibly strong odor, like sulfur mixed with rotten eggs. Even the faintest leak would fill a sealed space instantly. Another Wednesday evening passed. Marc texted to say the new line was entering final review. He and the core designers would be working late, and I shouldn't wait for him.

Declan wasn’t proud of what he had done, and I was worried that telling him might cause more damage than good. “Yes, and you should be prepared for a few changes.” I frowned at her answer, not understanding the meaning behind her words. What changes was she talking about? “What do you mean?” Meryl asked. A voice in my head told me I wasn’t going to like the answer. “Declan might change. He might start hating things he used to love. He might prefer to keep to himself because people who suffer from amnesia tend to feel vulnerable, and if they’re not comfortable around you, they’re going to keep it to themselves. Also, he might start being short-tempered,” she explained.

He was the only reason her sister was still in the hospital and had not been thrown out on the streets to die. “How are you doing, Mia?” he asked her like he usually did over the past year. He always made sure to know the mental health of his patient's guardian before he broke more bad news to them. Mia responded in her usual manner… a small “fine,” and would directly go into asking about her sister. “Well, she happens to have what we call selective amnesia. You see, Mia, she remembers most things from her past, but some others seem to be none existent in her memory,” he said.

Eyes blinking. She swallowed and looked at him. “ I have amnesia. Dissociative amnesia.” “ Wh..what do you mean by that— what amnesia.. what did you forget?” “ That's the thing.” Her voice dropped. “ I did not even know what I forgot. All I know is, my parents took me to Mirex estate for vacation.” She paused. “ I don't remember how the vacation was. What I did. Where I went. All I could remember was some fragments of an incident that happened then. The doctor said I lost my memory because they're trying to protect me.”

Richard would add, with eyes shining at exactly the right degree to impress journalists when necessary. I never found it strange that none of those memories came with scent, texture, or any physical sensation attached. They were films projected on a wall, not something lived in the body. When I questioned that lack of visceral connection, Harvey was always there with the perfect explanation: “Amnesia is like that, darling. Some things come back, others don’t. What matters is what we’re building now.” “Now” meant Boston. The penthouse. The honeysuckle scent. Chopin. Good girl.

"Lisa, if we're being honest, you're actually more at fault here. Pretending to lose your memory to test me—that's outright disrespect. It just proves you never trusted me from the beginning!" He was eloquent, twisting his betrayal into something forced upon him. I let out a cold laugh, tearing through his pretense. "I stopped you from doing extreme sports because of your heart condition. I was afraid you'd risk your life. I cared about you—that's why I paid attention to everything. "I pretended to lose my memory because I saw you kissing Sarah while I was being rushed to the hospital! If you had been loyal to me, would I have needed to use a near-death experience just to test your limits?"

“ Don't tell anyone I'm here, pick me up in two hours. “ Casper said leaving The place was quiet, soothing to the soul. Casper started arranging some things before sleeping . Athens was still doubting the news so she called Evan again. “ Spill, he's not here.” Athens said “ He had an accident leading to selective amnesia , he saw a girl and Casper thinks she is Amelia.” Evan said sighing “ How can something like that happen, no he kept denying the fact that Amelia was dead.” Athens said “ You can't bring it up unless he's likely to lose his memory completely or something bad may happen.” Evan said “Okay , who's this girl ?, Is she pretty,?. Athens asked

“Then maybe that’s your answer.” Later that night, Ryan stood by his window. The streetlights blurred in the distance. His inbox pinged again a reply from L. Tansey, offering a call. He didn’t answer yet. Instead, he opened a blank page. And he typed: “A Story That Doesn’t Belong To You” by Ryan Calloway He stared at the title for a long moment. Then under it, he wrote: “This isn’t a story about revenge. It’s about reclaiming.” Two weeks later.

she said. “I wasn’t a good enough liar for you,” I said and she laughed. My world was perfect. She knew everything and she still loved me. If I could just get rid of that nagging feeling at the back of my mind, it would be more than perfect. “If I hadn’t seen that room in the basement, I would have believed everything you told me,” she said. “So don’t you ever slip up?” “No. I have HSAM,” I said. She looked at me and I might as well have spoken Greek to her. “It's a highly superior autobiographical memory. It just means that I remember everything. I never forget any detail,” I said.