Amnesia - Short Story
Amnesia
Amnesia. That’s what the doctors said anyway. Said I did it to myself. Said I threw myself from the roof of a five story building and that I was lucky to be alive. Lucky – not exactly a word I would use. I can’t even remember why I had done it, and that scares me more than the fact that I had. What happened to me? What awful thing drove me to hurl myself off an office building roof? Questions probably best left unanswered I figured, but my curiosity drove me back to my apartment.
“So you ran away from the hospital without checking out?”
“That’s right…”
“Then what happened, after you made it back to your apartment? Walk me through it, please.”
There was a white door; it hung in the way of everything I couldn’t remember…but I had to know. My hands were all shaky. I was nervous, but I think it was the blood loss. I grabbed the doorknob and the door opened with a loud creaking sound. The room inside was dark – too dark, and something felt terribly amiss. As I entered I could feel eyes on me. I called out but no one answered. It was as though the room itself was watching me.
“Watching you? Could you elaborate on that?”
“Like there was something there waiting for me….something watching me from the darkness – something evil.”
I fumbled around a bit looking for a light switch; my hands were trembling I remember. The room was dull, lifeless, and there was a dense smell in the air. It was everything a cheap apartment should look like I guess. I pressed my back pressed against the wall, inspected the place where I had lived, trying to remember anything, any fragments, anything at all– but nothing came to me. There were a few pieces of furniture thrown about, but otherwise the room was empty. There was a wooden table with two chairs, one on its side, and another with one shortened leg. An old couch there was also, towards the back of the room, near some windows with curtains drawn closed, a small coffee table with round coffee stains, and a small TV with antennas.
“There were voices - whispers, coming from the walls and from beneath the floorboards.”
“What did the voices say?”
“I…can’t, I don’t…remember…”
“Focus Alex, did you recognise any of the voices? Notice anything at all?”
“Yes - I mean no. It sounded like arguing. Something about money….it sounded violent…”
I went over to the bedroom. The bed was unmade - queen size- in the middle of the room, and there was a bedside table on the window side, an old fashioned lampshade on it, and a digital alarm clock. There was a flickering light in the bathroom. I must have forgotten to turn it off the day I left. I pushed on the door and it swung open. Inside was everything you’d expect to find. A white counter with an antique mirror hanging above it occupied almost half the space. I braced myself against it, head hanging between my shoulders. There were voices. ALWAYS voices. Repeating over and over and OVER AGAIN. Like a DAMN broken record.
“FUCK! Why won’t they stop!? Why can’t I make them stop!? Why is this happening to ME!?”
“Calm down Alex! Breath….breath….It is imperative that you continue. Are you calm?”
“….yes….”
“Then, please continue.”
When I looked into the mirror I saw me… only, it wasn’t me. Like some twisted version of myself; slowly…changing, with the flickering of the light. A monster was staring back at me, but not with eyes - there were no eyes, and a gaping mouth full with blackness. I was frozen; I remember sweat running down my brow, and a hollow feeling in my gut. Suddenly the light went out. Terrified, I dragged myself into the living room and collapsed in the corner, my head between my knees. More voices. They were louder now, clearer, as though there were people arguing right beside me. “Besides, I can buy whatever I damn well please!” “For fucks sake Sarah, it’s not your fuckin’ money, it’s MY money, and I don’t work my bloody arse off all week for you to sneak off and buy a $200 dress! I don’t give a fuck if it was on sale, if you want your own crap then why don’t you get off your arse and get a real job…” My mind was racing, I rocked back, and forth, back, and forth; and then I heard it – a woman screaming. I listened to her plead, and then I listened to her beg. She cried out for mercy, but soon there was only…groaning, and then there was nothing. I sat, not moving for what felt like hours, trying to make sense of it all, but I couldn’t remember anything to help me.
“Did you think perhaps that your mind was protecting you from things that you did not want to remember?”
“I suppose”
“Did you recognise the voices, now that they were clearer?”
“….no”
“Please go on”
Hopeful that the worst was behind me, I stood up and opened my eyes. I…I was…there was...blood. Everywhere blood…the room was drenched in blood. The curtains and couch stained with gore. I panicked…I tripped; and there, staring back at me through a crack in the floorboards…an eye, wide open and cold…so very cold.
“So that’s when you found the body?”
“Yes”
“When the police retrieved her, did you recognise her?”
“No, no, no! Why do you keep asking me these questions? WHY!?”
“Because you killed her Alex. You killed your wife, and then you tried to kill yourself, and we cannot begin treating you until you accept that fact.”
“You’re lying! I don’t believe you. I am not a murderer!
“Yes, you say that every day, and every day we have to try and convince you, because the truth of the matter is, you simply don’t remember. Guards were finished in here!”
Critique
In the writing of this piece I endeavoured to create characters, one primary and one secondary, that would be realistic in nature, and I believe I accomplished my goal. Research into different psychological and psychobiological disorders and their symptoms (i.e. retrograde amnesia, and severe temporal lobe damage) allowed me to create a believable protagonist who experiences the genuine symptoms of his conditions. In addition, investigation into the micro skills of councillors/psychologists/psychiatrists added to the accurate nature of the secondary characters dialogue. Focusing on the development of the characters, and taking into account that “You can’t get the voices right unless you know how your characters tick” (Hyde, M, 2011), permitted the creation of a lower class male citizen, experiencing financial difficulties, whom suffers from depression, and has issues with controlling aggression.
I utilized a first person view point as I aimed to create a sense of mystery, intrigue and menace about my work. I established this from early on in the development process as I wanted to instil a correlation between my protagonist and the reader. I sought the idea of creating a character that would lead the reader on a mission of discovery, providing just enough information in attempt to allow him/her to gradually draw conclusions in the midst of reading, only permitting viewers to see “what I want you to see”.
Through minimal and necessary dialogue, and a descriptively dismal and distant (in regard to the reflective recount of the protagonist) style of writing, I intended to design a world of pure emotional and malevolent unification. It bears a resemblance to the style of writing in The Plague (Dattner, S. & Swinn, L. (eds.), 2005), which breaks away from present setting and diverts into an alternative setting, and also uses a similar tone (i.e. “Her eyes were still opened and they stared blankly into the distance…”). The dialogue enhanced the emotive scenario and ultimately leads to the twisted ending which would confirm reader suspicions and allow for the mental construction of the present setting.
Bibliography / References
Hyde, M 2011, ACP 1053 Creative Writing: coarse notes, Victoria University, St Albans, Melbourne
Dattner, S. & Swinn, L. (eds.), 2005, The Sleepers Almanac, Sleepers Publishing, Melbourne.
