Crystal Clear Memories Novels & Stories

Crystal cleared her throat and said, “Tomorrow afternoon at five o’clock, I will be at the mall. Send someone to pick me up.” “No problem.” After a pause, Eric chuckled. “Why did you call me in advance? Is there something wrong?” “I need your help,” Crystal replied. “Is there any medicine that can make someone lose their short-term memory?” “Hmmm... Amnesia...” Eric thought about it for a moment. “Is this for Nathan? Because, if it is, I will not provide it.” He wanted Nathan to feel the same kind of pain that he had forced Crystal to endure. If Nathan lost his memory, all bets would be off.

"I found a way to make you remember all the good times we had." He took a delicate crystal vial from his pocket. It was filled with a liquid as clear as water, sparkling in the moonlight. "This is water from the legendary Spring of Memories," Cayden's eyes lit up with hope. "It can safely restore your memories, without any pain." I stared at the vial. "Why would I want to restore my memory?" "Because you need to know the truth!" Cayden said, his voice rising with excitement. "You need to know how much we loved each other!"

Her appetite had returned, too, unless Albert was sitting at the table with her, then she was pushing her food around on the plate with a fork and just wanted the meal to end. One evening, about three months after the attack, Alissa was recovered to the point where she sat at her desk happily humming along to the music on the radio. She edited photos on her laptop because she loved taking pictures for her life. After a few hours of concentrated work, she went to sleep. She fell asleep pretty quickly and dreamed of becoming a great photographer one day. But suddenly she woke up, something caressed her leg. She knocked it away angrily and wanted to get up and turn on the light to see what it w

And it did work, I didn't notice that I survived that day without being jealous of the others for that whole day. The next painting on the other corner still on the left side shows a bunch of broken things. An eyeglass, vase, face mirror, and a phone that has flooded with unread messages. Only the phone has the blood on it. This is the painting I made the day my parents told me that I will be engaged to someone.

"I badly want to know. I did some research but I'm not confident in what I read on the internet." Elias nodded. "Her memories may return spontaneously to mind, years after an event, especially when triggered by a sight, smell, or other environmental stimuli. But these memories aren't pristine. The guy's forehead creased. "What do you mean not pristine?" "They show up as blurry," Elias replied and heaved a sigh. "Just show your face to her every day and let your presence trigger her lost memories." "But what if those lost memories are the memories that brought her trauma?"

“History remembers heroes. Memories remember victims. But some people are erased so completely that even reality forgets they ever existed.” 🌑 The white room trembled violently. Cracks spread through the endless void. ⚡ Millions of memories shattered around them. Fragments of forgotten lives floated through the air like broken glass. 🌌 Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. Because the words still burned before them. ⸻ PROJECT ECHO Subject A: Original Ilyaan Subject B: Memory Ilyaan

“I’m not sure. I wish I could remember my real name.” “Give it time.” “You seem so sure of that.” “I am, but until then, we need to discuss what you should do until your memory returns.” “What do you mean?” “Well, we have cleared you for the most part. We can’t find anything wrong with you.” “But I can’t remember anything about myself.” “As we told you before, that’s because you have Retrograde Amnesia. With this condition, your memories can resurface at any time.” “Or never.” “It does you no good to think that way.”

I saw the notes. “Decent profile match. Sustained immersion. Complete integration at 20.” Clear as raindrops on a crystal pane of glass. But I hadn’t a clue what any of it meant. Not while I spiraled through seventeen years of memories I’d somehow lost to the poison she’d pumped into me for years. Fever burned in my head.

It was the thing about him that had always made him valuable and was now making him extraordinarily inconvenient. “You can’t prove it,” I said. Simply. Setting the pleasantness aside because it wasn’t doing anything useful. “Whatever you think you remember, whatever you think you can reconstruct, you have no witnesses and no physical evidence and the only other person who was in that clearing doesn’t remember it the way you do.” “Not yet.” The words were quiet and gentle. My stomach tightened. “Kade’s memory isn’t going to change,” I said. “What he remembers is what happened.”