Memoir Novels & Stories

Back at the house, I started throwing my things into my suitcase. I was done with his pretend amnesia act; my heart was no longer in Sebastian's grip. In a rare moment of gentleness, he looked at our wedding photo and feigned a flicker of memory. "Elena, is that us in the picture? When did we take that?" I kept my eyes on my task, packing my clothes without a glance his way, and said without a hint of warmth, "It's fake, an AI creation." That was it. I pushed him over the edge.

Zachary went home in despondence, but awaiting him there was the "surprise" I left for him. Not for a second did I ever intend to forgive his arrogance, mistrust, and mockery of me so easily. As soon as he opened the door and turned on the lights, he saw the familiar-looking jar I left on the dining table. It was the one Marie brought from her place. I even left a note on it. "These are the pickles Mom made and brought over immediately after you mentioned them during your call with her. Do you think she would've died if she hadn't come over to deliver this that day?"

She got up and began pacing around the room, trying to clear her head. As she walked, Emma's eyes fell on a photo of her and her sister on the shelf. It was taken on a happy day, a day filled with laughter and sunshine. Emma's heart ached as she looked at the photo, feeling the weight of her loss. But as she gazed at the photo, something inside of Emma shifted. She remembered the determination and strength she had felt when she first started searching for her sister. She remembered the feeling of hope and purpose that had driven her to keep going, even when things seemed impossible.

About building a life from the ashes of one that was constructed by someone else. *We would like to discuss a memoir.* *Your story deserves to be told in your own words. We believe the world is ready to read it.* I read the letter twice. Set it on the kitchen counter. Looked at Daniel's monitor. The steady rise and fall of his breathing on the small screen. A memoir. My story. In my own words. I thought about the writing I'd been doing. The notes. The longer pieces. The attempts to understand by putting language around it.

"Memories from a realm you do not belong to are not yours. Every adventure you seek in the new world won't be in your possession once you go back to your world." Did this mean if time travel existed and that if she took part in it, she wouldn't remember anything from the new world? Like she would lose her memories? Thalia doubted it. She flipped through the book, inspecting it more cautiously. She wasn't exactly a superstitious person in any way, so there was no way all this was real. Shrugging her shoulders, she searched for a pen in her bag and recited the popular saying under her breath, "There's no harm in trying…"

I remembered that I also needed to speak to dad and stop him from talking about me with Nick. I prefer being a private person and I have closed off a lot of things with good reason. I can’t relate to people because of the void I have. I always feel out of place when people share their past. I can only talk about the life I had after the accident and it’s not pleasant because it took time for me to adjust. I have tried thinking harder like what people assume and it ends up giving me a migraine. I want to remember but the pieces never fall in place. At this point, I will need a miracle to remember. *****

My fingers caressed the colored notes in my hands and the familiar feeling of longing overwhelmed me. FLASHBACK NARRATIVE ~16 years ago~ *Aidan's Elementary School* A little boy ran into the class of about fifteen kids. "Y'all!" He called the attention of his mates. "I heard 'boo hoo' couldn't get his fees paid. Boo-hoo!" He went to stand in front of a petite boy of around the same age as himself, blocking the little boy's view and taking his books from him.

"Amethyst, these are books that I recommend you to read. That...that is simply a tale. It does not contain relevant and accurate facts and data like what you are looking for," I looked down at the book in my hand. With him here, I had to admit, scouring through this massive book depository seemed easier. I allowed myself to utter my gratitude as I accepted the books he had offered. After a few moments, I began reading all over again. This time he was right. Pages after pages, I learned most of the basics. Rather than a creative narrative, the text appeared to be written like a memoir, as if the person who wrote the passages witnessed the brutality firsthand. I

I fell on my knees. “How?” I whispered in utter disbelief, “You can’t possibly know that!” I roared, my emotions booming all at once. His chuckle covered my heavy breath. Then he just stepped on the balcony, summoned black, raven wings, and with a shot disappeared in the night. I couldn’t move for what felt like hours with just one question swirling in my mind. ‘How?’. Flashbacks of the most horrific night coming back to my mind. The smell of burning meat, the screams, and blood. So much blood. I took my head in hands trying to come back to reality and shake all it off. My painful scream filling the dawn.

I needed it to wash the mud off my wounds, but they refused to let me get close. My colleagues were guarding the place, and they were all glaring at me. "Ms. Hedge found this! You don't deserve it, bitch!" Fortunately, this island was abundant with resources. Wilderness survival was all the craze a few years ago, and many content creators came here to get useful footage. They also left useful stuff behind. I'd skimmed through everything during my search for water. I went to the dump and scrounged some plastic bottles and a cast-iron skillet.