Murdered By My Memories Novels & Stories

I looked down at my hand, which was still cold from my dream. "I-I'm sorry, but...all I remember is when I was young," I admitted, disappointed in myself. For the past two years, I've been frustrated by my lost memories. I only remember my childhood memories and it stopped with the memory when my parents died after that there were no memories left with me and am dissatisfied with them. Auntie Susan and Uncle Peter said they found me unconscious near a river. I had returned from the North Snow Province, drenched in my own blood and nearly dead. Auntie Susan used to be a nurse, so she knew first aid, which she used to save my life.

“Joshua is anything but a criminal, he is the most honest skin I know. It's me who is criminal ... uh! " Hannah looked at her in shock. Then her features smoothed. “You and a criminal? You couldn't even hurt a fly. ”A grin crept onto her full lips. "Now just tell me the truth." "It's the truth." Alissa took a deep breath. “What I'm telling you now, you can't tell anyone else okay? Not a soul, not even your Eddy. ”Hannah just nodded and looked at her curiously. "A few years ago, when I was still living with my mother, my stepfather came into my room one night and wanted to rape me." Hannah looked at her in dismay, jumped up and sat down next to Alissa on the bed and took her in his arms. "I h

she dismissed walking away before I got a chance to offer my own goodbye, but I deemed it as fate since further interaction would probably just lead to another memory I pondered on with a feeling of regret and sadness in the depts of my soul. . . . . . . . . . . . . Thanks for reading ❤️‼️ Hope you enjoyed the chapter ❤️‼️

The room was dark, the ceiling coming to view to be whisked away again until my eyes went steady and I was just staring at the ceiling. I stayed there for I don’t know how long. I knew I had done something terrible and I was fighting so hard to not remember but my brain just kept pushing the memories ahead with them exploding in my head. A gasp pulled from me, the tears falling from my eyes like rain in summer. My whole body shook, what had I done? The images kept swarming in my head, the bodies scattered all around the ground. It had been a massacre and I had done that. I had killed over two thousand rogues. They were people too, they had families and I had annihilated them as if they were

The words hit me like a physical blow. The rogue leader howls, and the pack moves. Garrick shifts in an instant, launching himself at the nearest wolf. The clearing explodes into chaos. Snarling, snapping, blood spraying across the grass. I can't move. The memories are coming back. Flashes. Fragments. Fire. Screaming. My mother's face, twisted in pain. I did this. I killed her. "Sable!" Stellan's voice cuts through the chaos. He's running toward me, Merrick behind him. "Sable, look at me."

Sweat beads across my forehead as the memory I’ve spent years trying to bury claws its way back into my mind. I see my hand reaching toward Mom. I see myself pushing her. Her body tumbling down the stairs before going completely still. Blood. So much fucking blood. My heart starts hammering against my ribs as the images come faster, each one cutting through me before I can force it away. I squeeze my eyes shut, desperate to make it stop, but the harder I fight the memories, the more violently they come. I killed her. I killed my own mother. My head feels like someone is driving needles through my skull.

It slammed down with a thunderous roar, and he had no strength to dodge it. In his last moment of consciousness, he suddenly remembered the abduction. Back then, both Calista and Aveline had been strapped with bombs, and he had chosen to save Aveline without hesitation. He wondered if Calista had felt as much agony then as he did now. "I'm sorry," Theodore said. The flames swallowed his apology.

The image is imprinted in my brain like a computer code to a system, her body was lifeless and barely clothed, lying in a pool of her own blood and her beautiful brown skin was adorned with so many bullet holes. My mother was murdered, that was my worst memory. Sometimes I heard her sing to me at night, a secret song only the two of us knew, no one else. It was my bedtime lullaby. Other times I had dreams where I would see her getting shot but I still won't be able to save her or catch the killer.

Memories that haunt me every night creep into my mind–memories that will torment me forever. I try to think of something else–of happy days with her. Because I don't want to see her broken–broken because of me. Her blood on my hands, my clothes. And the blood of the others that died that day. Because of me, of what I did. I am a fucking murderer, and I deserve to suffer.

I didn't even know such places existed until my grandparents suggested it to me three weeks ago. Why? Because my parents are gone; they and my younger sister were murdered in cold blood two months ago. I couldn't remember that terrible night; everything was blurry and confusing when I tried to remember. The killer drugged me, making me a useless witness with no memories. Not remembering didn't make it any less painful or any easier to overcome.