//------------------------------// // Embers // Story: False Memory // by TypewriterError //------------------------------// I’m awake. It makes sense that I’m awake. I feel awake. I just woke up from another nightmare, of course I'm awake. I'm back in my room and everything should be normal. But, if I am awake, why are the bars gone? The bars only disappear when I’m dreaming but I’m almost certain I am awake now. But, nothing stand between me and the window. I run my hands over the floor where they stand, in my memory. There is no indication that bars were ever there. “Ashlyn?” Sarah asks, startling me. I stand up. She holds the door open, probably checking on me to make sure I’m going to breakfast. “The bars are gone.” “What?” “The bars in front of my window are gone.” “Ashlyn . . . there have never been bars on your window.” “There have always been bars on my window. They would only disappear when I was dreaming. I’m dreaming now or the bars have never been there.” “Ashlyn, the bars have never been there.” “Except, I remember them—” “You probably had a dream where there were bars in your room and you kept picturing them here—“ “You’re not listening! In my dreams the bars are gone! If they’re gone now—“ “Has it occurred to you that maybe the bars have never been there, and whenever you saw them there that was the dream?” “If that’s true then Discord is also real and letters appear under my sheets and pillows saying I’m Princess Celestia!” I say with a helpless wave of my arms. “Look,” she said, rubbing her temples with the tips of her fingers while scrunching her eyes closed, “The point is: the bars are unimportant. If you saw bars here it was your imagination. Now are you coming to breakfast?” “But—“ “No. More. Arguing. The matter is settled.” Sarah snaps, “Now get dressed and come pick up your medication before you go to breakfast.” I don’t move. “Do I have to get another nurse in here?” “What's with the attitude lately?” “Just do as you're told. I am coming back in five minutes and you better be dressed by then.” she says before turning back to the door. She stops. I can see her body stiffen. She turns her face enough to look at me. She’s about to cry. Her face contorts as she fights what she wants to say. She shakes her head. “What is it?” I ask, mystified. “You have no idea what I lost because of you.” The door clicks shut. I’m uneasy as I pull on my dark jeans and chocolate brown sweater. I’m not sure how long I am in dressing, but Sarah does not interrupt me before I’m ready. She’s also gone from the hallway when I leave my room. What do I do now? Pretend she didn't say anything? What did I do? How can I get a straight answer from her if she can’t, or won’t, talk to me? All through breakfast I force myself to eat, feeling my stomach protest. I don’t like eating when I’m pensive. Every time I stop to try and let the acid in my stomach settle, an orderly looks at me until I eat again. I can feel myself growing sick and stop to place my face in my hands. Silence. When I lift my face again I find the place empty. A breeze blows through a burned out shell. I’m sitting on a chair, which collapses under me. It's been weakened by fire. Charcoal coats my hand when I bring it up to my eyes as I rise from the burned out debris. I can still smell smoke. The sound like crumbling leaves follows my footsteps as I crawl over a collapsed section of roof. Maybe it isn’t smoke that I smell. It's cold now. The breeze picks up momentarily and bits of orange and red glow against the black. So the fire is recent enough to still have embers but not so recent that I’ll be burned seriously if I’m careful. I watch where I step a little more closely. The door the leads to the stairs and down to my corridor is closed. From what I can see, that section of the building still stands. How did I get here so suddenly? I just blinked and this happened. “Sarah?” I pause, “Dr. Cruebel?” Stillness answers. I’m very much alone. Is this a nightmare? Where do I go? What do I do now? I’m shaking. How do I even leave? If the wood is still in embers, the metal doors are too hot for me to touch. Calm down, Celestia, and think about this . . . Celestia . . . I have not called myself that in almost a year. It sounds so foreign in my mind. It brings me back to when I spent every night dreaming that I was drowning. Now I’m almost a year older, but am I really better? Am I more confident? Am I any safer? Have any of my questions been answered since I’ve been here? How could that name have popped up? I climb over to where the floor is still clear. I call a general hello for anyone who might hear me. The scratch of my voice in the air warns me that I’m about to start coughing. After the first cough hits, a wave begins and forces me to sit on the blackened floor. For a full minute I'm caught in a hacking fit, feeling every bit of friction in my throat. Even after I stop, the tickle is still there, begging to be scratched through more coughing. I swallow it back enough. I need to get out of here . . . wherever here is. I can breathe easily when I'm gone. I’m aware of the winds murmuring as I pull my sweater up enough to cover my nose and mouth. The wind strolls through the blackened shell of the cafeteria and I blink my dry eyes as I walk towards the door leading to the kitchen. The heavy, metal door fallen off the weakened hinges and there might be a staircase on that side of the building that I can use to escape. Where will I go from there? The wind is talking. The murmuring is actual murmuring. The voices are soft, echoing, and close. I turn around, keeping my mouth and nose covered, and hear the hollowness of the cafeteria as the voices sweep down into it from the gray clouds and bare branches above me. “She’ll make it.” I hear one say. I can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman. The sound whispers too softly to distinguish. “She’s strong. She’ll make it.” It’s a man’s voice. I can hear that now. Not Dr. Cruebel’s . . . but familiar. Something brushes my hair and I reach up to feel nothing. A very gentle touch presses on my forehead. “I love you.” a female voice says. I let my hands fall to my sides. I know her. I haven’t heard her speak in forever. She's been gone for forever. Her voice shelters me even though there is no way a voice could give me any protection. I open my wind-dried lips and my voice replies in a breath, “Mom?” Like a radio being turn on, the noise returns. I look around, disoriented. The cafeteria is restored. A female orderly approaches me. “Are you alright? Did you finish your breakfast?” she asks, pleasantly. I blush. “Yes, I think I did. I’m sorry, I thought I saw something . . . ” “It’s fine, honey, I can walk you back to your room.” I look up and see I’m one of the last patients left in the room. “Thank you. I . . . I think that would help.” I say. The woman, who is at least half a foot shorter than me, links her arm with mine and leads me out of the cafeteria. “What happened?” Sarah asks as we pass her in the pharmacy window outside of the cafeteria. “Hallucinations, I’m afraid. She kept walking around the cafeteria like there was something there. She called for her mom too. I’m just walking her back in case she has another episode. ” My cheeks burn hotter. I’m right next to her and she speaks as if I can’t hear her. “I’ll get my dad. Stay with her until we get there. Tom?” she calls, turning her head, “I have to leave a minute or two early, can you manage?” “Yeah.” a voice affirms out of sight. “Now just take one step at a time, dear.” the orderly at my elbow says. “Thank you, I am all right. I just want to make sure nothing happens before I get back to my room.” “Sure. I’ll be right here. Let me know if you're dizzy.” “I will.” The rest of the trip to my room slithers lazily as the orderly keeps asking me to slow down so I don’t faint. I remind her I’m not about to faint and she pats my arm and assures me that I’m right. I know I’m right. I don’t need her approval to know that. The bars still haven’t returned by the time I get back. I sit on the bed and the orderly stands in front of me, smiling at me while her eyes scrutinize my face. I avoid eye contact and stare resolutely at the door. "So what did you see?" "Just . . . stuff." "Do you miss your mother? Is that why you called for her?" "I didn't call for her . . . I heard her." "Don't worry, we'll sort this out and have you better in no time." "They've been saying that to me for a year . . . " "Oh. I didn't realize that." I can't block the idea once it comes into my mind. Maybe it will at least give me some peace. "I just hope I don't start biting people again. I hate that." "Biting? I thought patients who bit—" "I can't help it . . . all the salad I get . . . I get so hungry, you know?" I say, ending my voice in a growl as I look at her appraisingly. She shifts back a step. "Are you sure you're in the right hall?" I can’t remember being so relieved to see Dr. Cruebel before. I think the orderly shares my feelings. Dr Cruebel enters with Sarah close behind him. “Thank you, Nurse. You may go now.” he says to the orderly. She flitters away. “Ashlyn,” he sits on the bed next to me and seems worried by what he sees, “I didn’t get the whole story, what happened?” “Um . . . I’m not sure. I was in the cafeteria and I got sick because I was trying to force myself to eat, so I put my head in my hands. When I did, the cafeteria disappeared.” “What did you see? Your home?” “Well, I saw the cafeteria . . . but it was burned down. There were still some embers but no one was there. It was all quiet. I went towards the kitchen and . . . “ “Don’t feel scared to tell me. I can’t help if I don’t know what happened.” “I . . . I heard voices. I can’t name the male voice directly.” “But there was another voice?” “Yes . . . I don’t know how I recognized her.” my lips shiver, “It was my mom.” “Oh . . . Ashlyn, I’m so sorry.” he say, his face genuinely reflecting his words, “Did you take your medicine?” “Yes.” “Sarah, please check her medication. It’s possible that the pills might have reacted to something she ate or took last night but it’s also likely that the medication was switched.” “I’ll check. The bottle, please?” I take out of my pocket and hand it to her. She leaves, giving me an uncertain look as she does. “Now, Ashlyn,” Dr Cruebel begins, placing his hand on my shoulder, “You know your mother is dead, right?” “Yes. I don’t know what happened or why I heard her . . . Is it . . . “ I stop myself. “You can tell me. I want to help you.” “Is it . . . wrong for me to feel . . . comforted by a hallucination?” “What do you mean by comforted?” he said after a slight pause. “I felt safe. It was a different kind of safe. I mean, there is a rational safe you feel when you know you are protected. Then, there is the safe you feel when . . . talking with someone you trust,” I pause, searching for what to say next, “Then, there is the safe that you feel . . . when you’re scared and go to sleep in your parents’ room, like when your dad hugs you tighter after your sister drowns, like when your mom kisses your forehead when your almost asleep and says that she loves you . . . does that make sense?” “Hm.” he says as he nods, “The question is though: what about hearing your mom’s voice in your head comforts you? Is it because you feel like she’s there?” I thought for a while before shaking my head. “I think it was just hearing her voice. It just comforted me somehow.” “Hmm . . . I would caution you not to take this . . . experience as something to hold on to. Don’t let what you think you heard rule your life. It’s remarkably easy to create a memory, especially if you want that memory more than anything. I’ve told you all this before.” I nod. Dr. Cruebel takes his hand from my shoulder and laces his fingers together in front of him. “I think," I begin again, "I think what comforted me, is that I still have something I can remember from her . . . I can remember my mom saying ‘I love you’ to me.” Sarah pushes the door open, holding a pill bottle that rattles. She stands adjacent to her father and looks directly at him. The corners of her grim mouth press into her face. “Tom put the wrong medication in her bottle. It looks the same except the color is a little different. I’m sorry.” she says, handing him the bottle. He closes his fingers around the orange yellow plastic and she releases it. “We’ll talk later.” he says. Sarah leaves. Her eyes are red with tears. “Where is her mother?” I ask. A muscle in his temple twitches as his jaw clenches. He looks to the point across the room where the wall meets the floor and addresses it instead of me. “I don’t discuss my personal life with patients. I’m sure you can figure out why.” He is gone before I can apologize.