Memoir Novels & Stories

I was scrolling through the reports when I found an email from the college girl who’d met me earlier in the day. “Hi, Ms. Meyers! I’m grateful you have me the opportunity to get an interview. I look forward to hearing your amazing story...” it read. As I read through the mail, an idea flashed through my mind. What if I documented Jared’s everyday experiences for the purpose of memory keeping? That way he’d still have his memories, but on a hard drive. I smiled at the thought. At the same time, another idea slipped into my head. I thought about the interview Abby Delaney was asking for and figured I could write something more personal, a memoir of my experience

"Lost love is still loved. It takes a different form, that's all. You can't see their smile or bring them food or tousle their hair or move them around a dance floor. But when those senses weaken another heightens. Memory. Memory becomes your partner. You nurture it. You hold it. You dance with it." ― Mitch Albom *** ~Clara

“I had a talk with Kai, sorry. Future Alpha Raider and it brought back a memory. But it wasn’t like how I normally remember. This was like bits and pieces. Several moments instead of one long memory.” “So tell us the moments.” I growled. “Fine. Fuck, you’re impatient. This isn’t easy, you know.” Mona said. “First thing I remember was going somewhere. Like a cabin in the woods. I don’t know with who, but I was still young. Then I remember lying on a table on my stomach and my back hurt. Then. Then. Sorry, I just need a second.” Mona said and she started to cry. Mary came over and gave her a hug. But Mona shook her head, “no, I’m okay. I can do this.”

I murmur, needing some kind of sound in the deafening silence I flip through the pages aimlessly, noticing that the books are arranged based on category rather than alphabetical order, until my eyes snag on a list of names. ‘Journeys to the mirror world— A Memoir of Fernando D. Sigmond.’ What? My heart beats loud in my ears as I try to memorize the bookshelf number where the book is supposed to be. A lycan traveled to another world? Or did a human come to this world? Am I not the first person who was helped by a Sigmond?

She grabbed my attention as she motioned for me to come to the front counter. “This is a grimoire that has been handed down for generations in my family. We only bring it out for ourselves and wayward witches that have lost their place in the world. In this book is the ritual and spell you can use that will help you.” “What is it?” I asked as she flipped through the book. “It is a memory ritual.” “But there is nothing wrong with my memories.” I said. I was a little disappointed by her words. “Silly girl you are not looking into your memories. This speel helps you visit the memories of a soul that is close to you. You are going to see the memories of your late mother.” She said as she stopped

And with whom? Flashes of memory came in disjointed pieces—blood splattering against the ground, a sharp growl cutting through the air, the metallic taste of it in my mouth. Then nothing. Was I just putting things up, was I remembering the last things that happened? I exhaled, tilting my head back against the pillow as the heart monitor beeped steadily beside me. The sound was mocking. I was still alive. Still breathing. Another pain shot through my head, accompanied by another fragment of memory.

She carried the memories of the subtle signals with her—a memory of gentle warmth amid the rigid structures of her daily life. On her way home, she recalled every detail of the day. She remembered the way her heart leaped when Leon’s eyes met hers, even for a second. She remembered the soft murmur of conversations in the office and the steady rhythm of work that filled her hours. In each memory, that one small smile shone brightly like a beacon of hope. It was a reminder that even in the midst of the ordinary, there could be moments that felt extraordinary.

"I know I deserve no forgiveness, but please look at me one more time." The guests erupted in shock as the head of the Montclair family from Joville, a man known for being cold and noble, kneeled there perfectly upright. Calista took half a step back. "Theodore, don't do this." Theodore's Adam's apple bobbed. "I've written 300 love letters. They covered every day from the moment we first met, through our marriage, and then… to the days when I fell for you but was too afraid to admit it."

“You’re doing great. I see the difference in you — you’re coming back to yourself.” “Sometimes I feel guilty about that. Coming back. Like I’m leaving Ayana behind.” Miriam reaches across the table, squeezes my hand. “You’re not leaving her behind. You’re learning to carry her with you while still living. There’s a difference.” Midnight finds me pulling dusty books from a shelf, fingers brushing cracked leather. A single page flips open under lamplight, revealing smiles frozen years ago. Her face appears, sharp and sudden, caught in faded colors. Memory spills forward without warning. The room feels heavier now, filled with quiet shapes only I can see.

Valerie walked slowly between the shelves. Most books contained handwritten notes rather than printed text. Personal journals. Research diaries. Letters. Lives. She reached toward one volume before stopping herself. "May I?" Evelyn smiled gently. "They've been waiting." Valerie opened the nearest journal. The first page contained a simple sentence. Memory is a witness. It is not always the truth. She stared at the words. They echoed everything she had begun experiencing. Evelyn joined her beside the shelf. "The greatest mistake we made wasn't creating the Core."