Novel & Cerita Murdered By My Memories

A girl in her late 20’s, was walking in a hotel corridor, completely drunk. Her 5ft 6-inch figure was dangling with a lost mind over her each step. Her vision was too hazel to recognize the path in front of her, just like her life. Anger, frustration, and feeling of betrayal once again were swelling her heart.

" The crowd in the square had still been gossiping about the supposed affair between the doctor and me, with many already preparing to leave. But those words were broadcast across the square through the loudspeaker Daniel had forgotten to turn off. A stunned silence followed. People began exchanging bewildered looks. The doctor had an alibi. The revelation hit Daniel like a sledgehammer. If that was true, then the memory in which I identified him as the killer might have been deliberately planted. Perhaps I knew I would eventually be subjected to memory extraction and had somehow manipulated the evidence in advance. But why? Why would I use my own death to accuse an innocent man?

I feel a sharp seething pain in my head immediately I rest it upon my pillow. Darkness carries me and I find myself standing in this same house, Alicia stands right in front of me. This must be a memory, she is crying on my chest. “I killed him” she mutters to herself as place her on her feet, her hands grip tightly on the hem of my shirt, the room falls silent for a minute before she speaks again, “I killed him” “Yes” “I am a murderer”

"I don’t have any memories between the ages of 16-18." I let out a small, humorless laugh. "Right. That’s mine. You may as well know." Lucian turned to me, his gaze sharp. "And you don’t know why?" I shrugged. "My wolf, Nina, said my brain hides those memories. Like a self-protection mechanism. So whatever I forgot must’ve been terrible." Lucian didn’t say anything for a long moment, his fingers flexing slightly at his side. Then, my eyes landed on another secret. My breath caught. I turned to Lucian. "Is this yours?" I asked, holding up the slip. I killed someone.

I remember dying. Not in the vague, dreamlike way people claim when they “almost” do—no hazy lights, no muffled voices calling me back. I remember it with a clarity so sharp it still slices through my thoughts like a blade. I remember the warmth leaving my fingertips first, like the tide receding from a shore. I remember the metallic scent of my own blood flooding the air, clinging to my tongue with every shallow breath. And I remember—most of all—the eyes of the person who killed me.

I could feel her presence,I hated her absence,life without her was full of wants and desires. "I miss you so much" I said, like I could see right in front of me. "Come back to me" I told her,I want her, I want her back right now. "Hahahahaha" I laughed so loud, one could confirm I was going crazy. "Am sorry, am so sorry" I began to cry,I cried like a sucking child, I was hurt, my soul was ripped. "I killed you, I killed her!" I kept repeating to myself as my emotions got the very best out of me.

, I said and suddenly questioned my own motives. Why do I have such good reflexes? Why didn't I show mercy to Damon's father? Why are poeple scared of me? Why did I wear a loose hoodie in my past photo. Was I a robber or a murderer? Did I work for people helping in killing? How can that be possible. How can I kill anyone? Tha moment of killing crossed my old thoughts back to my head. When I woke up that day after losing my memories, all I could repeatedly watch in my head was my mother being draggged on teh ground completely naked when Richards hit her head with a hammer killing her.

Two things that eat from the inside – termites and memories. His temples were hurting. Glimpses from the past started coming back to him – brief flashes. Himself as a small child eating chocolates which Esha had gotten him. The fat neighbour who had chased them across her garden for stealing guavas. The puppies they had adopted after their mother died. Esha pushing him around on a little bicycle. The rigorous lessons of English language; A for apple, B for ball ... The memories lived inside him, the black and white reflection of a wonderful past. In reality, the mirror had broken into a million pieces.

I remember that. I remember thinking something was wrong. I remember shifting mid-stride. I remember the first kill. The second. The third. And then— There are places where memory jumps. Like missing frames in a film. I always attributed it to rage. To grief so overwhelming it swallowed everything else. But what if... No. I push off the wall and pace the corridor. My boots strike stone too loudly. I chose every action and every strike. Every drop of blood on my hands. If I allow her narrative to take root...

The places that felt like home even though I had never been there. They weren’t dreams. They were memories. Memories of killing people. I thought about all the nights I woke up scared, seeing people die in my head. I always thought they were just bad dreams because of what happened when I was sent away. But now I knew they were much worse than that.I continued reading. What if she remembers? What if she knows what she can do? I’ve seen what happens when she gets angry and her purple eyes glow. Last week she killed a rabbit just by looking at it. It was eating our food and she got mad, and then it was dead.*