More Memoir Novels & Stories

I will, Adrian. My last memory of you… I would never forget it.

But it passed quickly. I figured it was pointless to waste feelings on people who were never worth it. Then my father kicked me hard in the shin. Pain shot up my leg as he barked, "Apologize to Mrs. Vaughn now! You'd better grovel and beg for her forgiveness! If you don't, I swear I'll break your legs in front of everyone here so they'll all see just how shameless you are!" But I'd already lived one life being their scapegoat. This time, I wasn't gonna let history repeat itself.

He moved to the machine, pressed three buttons, and then handed three metal helmets to my parents and Steve. “Mr. Zeller,” he explained carefully, “once the three of you sit down and put these helmets on, you’ll be able to view the subject’s memories through the built-in visual interface. Based on her brain activity, she’ll only be able to recall three memories. Anything beyond that is extremely dangerous and could cause brain damage, seizures, bleeding, or permanent memory loss.” “Three times is enough. The first one should be about Emily’s disappearance. She definitely knows something,” Steve said impatiently as he grabbed a helmet and sat down beside me.

Then he read the other spines. “Woolf. Munro. Ishiguro.” “I read differently for work than for pleasure,” she said. He took the glass from her. “What are you reading now?” She told him. He had not read it. She described it briefly and watched him absorb the information carefully, the same way he absorbed everything else. “I am reading something I avoided for years,” he said. “What is it.” “A memoir by a fighter I admired when I started out.” “Why avoid it.”

“Why not?” “I … I can’t remember anything.” Her eyes fell to the ground. It’s not that she couldn’t remember, it’s just … she didn’t want to remember anything about it. Her dark past had been haunting her, chasing her wherever she went. She was scared. Her fear would consume her and bring back all the trauma. Her entire life she had avoided recalling every bit of memory from her parents. And she’s fine with little or nothing to remember at all. “Wait.” Estevan opened his backpack and, later on, pulled out a notepad. “I’ve read a book before—back in my country and took some notes out of it. Here,” he said, pointing at a page. “It’s called Meditation Memory Recall.”

The title was simple: The One Who Stayed. "I have been writing it for a year," Seren said, sitting on the stone bench. "It is not history. It is a memoir. My memories of Clara. The way she taught me to witness. The way she taught me to stay." Morwen took the book. It was heavy, warmer than paper should be, and she felt the watcher's attention focus on it. "Clara would be proud," Morwen said. Seren shook her head. "Clara would say that she did not do anything special. That she just stayed."

She thinks about the third book. Not the content — she does not yet have the content, only the argument sentence that has been forming since Beatriz asked the question three years ago. The form. What kind of book can say: the first life is not a mistake, it is the research, without saying: and here is how I know, from personal experience, that this is structurally true in a way that the argument alone does not account for. The form is not memoir. She knows this. Memoir requires the specific named, and the specific is hers and will remain hers. The form is something else — the argument wearing the clothes of the life without the life being exposed. The evidence without the exposure.

Fortunately, with the help of my friends in Italy and Greece, I finished my schooling in business course and applied as Barack's secretary who is now my fiancé. My heart was heavy upon reminiscing the past. It was squeezing me inside, preventing me from breathing smoothly. I did not know what happened afterwards, my mind was nowhere to be found. The next thing I just knew was we were already inside the van and my son was watching the colourful lights outside. I motioned my hands to my face and noticed my wet cheeks. I immediately wiped it with my fingers and heaved a heavy deep breath. Am I really ready to face my past and remember the forgotten?

Racheal said. Out of nowhere Mary grabbed a notebook from her bag, that was filled with texts and pictures. She looked slightly embarrassed. “Okay, don’t get angry, Alpha Moon. But I’ve been trying to make a time-line. I’ve been writing down every memory you had and trying to piece together what happened when. Now that you’ve remembered when Kimiko and your mom died, it’s much easier to place certain memories. Like the memories of you and Kai together are after her death. And every memory you had with your mother was before the age of ten.” Mary said.

I mumbled as I stared at his dark nearly black eye lids that made him look tired. The sigh that the doctor made told me that he didn’t approve of my observation. “Bella we are trying to get your memories back. So I need you to try.” He said as he handed me the card. “I did try.” I grumbled. “It’s a brown bear.” He stated as he picked up another card. I pressed my lip because there were too many things in the world and I couldn’t know what they all were if I had only two weeks of memories.