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rainbowfic2015-08-02 05:15 pm
kay_brooke) wrote in rainbowfic2015-08-02 05:15 pm
Asphalt #15, White Cross #12
Name: kay_brooke
Story: The Prime
Colors: Asphalt #15 (road sign), White Cross #12 (It's Too Late)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas, Graffiti (Duck Gallery)
Word Count: 972
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply.
Summary: He'll ask one more time.
Note: Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
He didn’t want to do it, but his only other option was going to his parents, and he didn’t think he could withstand the contempt of his father or the shining hope of his mother. His sister was more neutral territory, he figured, because most of the time she didn’t bother with him at all. So he cornered her one day when she breezed past the living room, on her wait out the door. She was dressed what he now recognized as casually fashionable, in tight white jeans and a black knit turtleneck, silver necklaces dripping down her chest and matching earrings swinging from her ears. She had her purse with her, which meant she was probably going out. David still stopped her anyway.
“Can I ask you something?” he said.
She frowned, looking at him the same way she had looked at him since he’d gotten out of the hospital--like she wasn’t looking at him at all, not quite meeting his eyes. “I’m meeting Marybel at Nordstrom’s.”
“It’ll be quick,” he said. He wasn’t sure if that was true.
She sighed, tapped her foot, then said, “Fine. What do you want?”
“Did we ever vacation on a big lake?”
“A lake,” Jennifer repeated slowly, as if it was the most disgusting thing she’d ever heard of.
“Yes,” said David. “A huge lake, that you couldn’t even see all the way around. There was a road that led right up into it. It didn’t stop when it got to the water, it just kept going. Maybe the day was cloudy?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jennifer snitted. “I really have to go.”
“Please,” said David. “I’ve been having dreams about this place. The doctors said that might happen, that I might have dreams that are really memories. Are you sure we’ve never been to a lake?”
“Why on earth would we go to a lake when our parents own properties on both coasts and southern France?” said Jennifer, sneer still on her face. “I can’t think of a worse vacation than some dirty lake.”
“Then do you know if I’ve been to a lake?” asked David, desperate. He’d been having the dream for weeks now, always the same: walking down a road that wasn’t well-tended, with weeds growing up through the cracks in the pavement. Not another soul in sight, just the road stretching all the way down to a massive lake and disappearing into its depths. It had to mean something. It just had to. Because if it did, that would be his first real returned memory, and if he could remember that, he might be able to remember the rest, and no longer would he be stuck in this strange place, surrounded by strange people, every experience grown over with a thick film of confusion and missing context. “Like when I was in college or something. Did I spent a...spring break there?” Spring break was a concept he’d utterly forgotten about, but he’d been watching TV.
“My brother--you only had one spring break,” said Jennifer. “You spent it here, precisely because Father didn’t want you going to some trashy foreign beach.”
He had to take her word for it. “So as far as you know, I’ve never been to a lake. Not even on a school trip or something?”
“I have to go,” said Jennifer. “I answered your stupid question, and that answer isn’t going to change no matter how many times you ask it.”
“Thanks anyway,” said David, deflating. She spared him not another glance as she breezed out the front door. He shuffled his way back into the living room, where the entire surface of the coffee table was covered with photo albums. He had a mother, apparently, who liked to document every second of her childrens’ lives, so he’d thought if there was ever a time they went to a lake, there would likely be an entire album dedicated to it.
There was nothing. Plenty of beaches, lots of scenes from visiting other cities and other countries, picture after picture of him and his sister as small children grinning up at the camera. Relatives he’d never met. Childhood friends he didn’t remember. An entire life he was more and more certain must have been lived by someone else, because it didn’t make sense that absolutely none of it was in his head, not a single second.
Except for that damn lake in his dream. Not a beach; it didn’t look like any of the seaside vacation pictures he had poured over. This was definitely a lake, with reeds growing around the edges and a shallow, placid surface.
He had to accept the likelihood that it was something he had made up, not something real. He had to accept that he may never regain his memory, that the first twenty years of his own life would always remain a mystery to him. He would have to piece together what he could from stories, and go from there.
There was nothing wrong with his memory now. He remembered every moment from the time he had woken up in the hospital, even if those moments had been shot through with fear.
David closed the albums and put them back on the shelves. It was time, he decided, to get past that fear. This was his life now, this was his home, this was his family. He couldn’t stay inside hiding or wandering the streets forever. His father had made it clear that even if he did need time to recover, he was still expected to fulfill certain responsibilities. He didn’t need personal memories to go back to school, or get a job.
It was time to do those things, and forget there even was a past for him to remember.
kay_brookeStory: The Prime
Colors: Asphalt #15 (road sign), White Cross #12 (It's Too Late)
Styles/Supplies: Canvas, Graffiti (Duck Gallery)
Word Count: 972
Rating/Warnings: PG-13; no standard warnings apply.
Summary: He'll ask one more time.
Note: Constructive criticism is welcome, either through comments or PM.
He didn’t want to do it, but his only other option was going to his parents, and he didn’t think he could withstand the contempt of his father or the shining hope of his mother. His sister was more neutral territory, he figured, because most of the time she didn’t bother with him at all. So he cornered her one day when she breezed past the living room, on her wait out the door. She was dressed what he now recognized as casually fashionable, in tight white jeans and a black knit turtleneck, silver necklaces dripping down her chest and matching earrings swinging from her ears. She had her purse with her, which meant she was probably going out. David still stopped her anyway.
“Can I ask you something?” he said.
She frowned, looking at him the same way she had looked at him since he’d gotten out of the hospital--like she wasn’t looking at him at all, not quite meeting his eyes. “I’m meeting Marybel at Nordstrom’s.”
“It’ll be quick,” he said. He wasn’t sure if that was true.
She sighed, tapped her foot, then said, “Fine. What do you want?”
“Did we ever vacation on a big lake?”
“A lake,” Jennifer repeated slowly, as if it was the most disgusting thing she’d ever heard of.
“Yes,” said David. “A huge lake, that you couldn’t even see all the way around. There was a road that led right up into it. It didn’t stop when it got to the water, it just kept going. Maybe the day was cloudy?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jennifer snitted. “I really have to go.”
“Please,” said David. “I’ve been having dreams about this place. The doctors said that might happen, that I might have dreams that are really memories. Are you sure we’ve never been to a lake?”
“Why on earth would we go to a lake when our parents own properties on both coasts and southern France?” said Jennifer, sneer still on her face. “I can’t think of a worse vacation than some dirty lake.”
“Then do you know if I’ve been to a lake?” asked David, desperate. He’d been having the dream for weeks now, always the same: walking down a road that wasn’t well-tended, with weeds growing up through the cracks in the pavement. Not another soul in sight, just the road stretching all the way down to a massive lake and disappearing into its depths. It had to mean something. It just had to. Because if it did, that would be his first real returned memory, and if he could remember that, he might be able to remember the rest, and no longer would he be stuck in this strange place, surrounded by strange people, every experience grown over with a thick film of confusion and missing context. “Like when I was in college or something. Did I spent a...spring break there?” Spring break was a concept he’d utterly forgotten about, but he’d been watching TV.
“My brother--you only had one spring break,” said Jennifer. “You spent it here, precisely because Father didn’t want you going to some trashy foreign beach.”
He had to take her word for it. “So as far as you know, I’ve never been to a lake. Not even on a school trip or something?”
“I have to go,” said Jennifer. “I answered your stupid question, and that answer isn’t going to change no matter how many times you ask it.”
“Thanks anyway,” said David, deflating. She spared him not another glance as she breezed out the front door. He shuffled his way back into the living room, where the entire surface of the coffee table was covered with photo albums. He had a mother, apparently, who liked to document every second of her childrens’ lives, so he’d thought if there was ever a time they went to a lake, there would likely be an entire album dedicated to it.
There was nothing. Plenty of beaches, lots of scenes from visiting other cities and other countries, picture after picture of him and his sister as small children grinning up at the camera. Relatives he’d never met. Childhood friends he didn’t remember. An entire life he was more and more certain must have been lived by someone else, because it didn’t make sense that absolutely none of it was in his head, not a single second.
Except for that damn lake in his dream. Not a beach; it didn’t look like any of the seaside vacation pictures he had poured over. This was definitely a lake, with reeds growing around the edges and a shallow, placid surface.
He had to accept the likelihood that it was something he had made up, not something real. He had to accept that he may never regain his memory, that the first twenty years of his own life would always remain a mystery to him. He would have to piece together what he could from stories, and go from there.
There was nothing wrong with his memory now. He remembered every moment from the time he had woken up in the hospital, even if those moments had been shot through with fear.
David closed the albums and put them back on the shelves. It was time, he decided, to get past that fear. This was his life now, this was his home, this was his family. He couldn’t stay inside hiding or wandering the streets forever. His father had made it clear that even if he did need time to recover, he was still expected to fulfill certain responsibilities. He didn’t need personal memories to go back to school, or get a job.
It was time to do those things, and forget there even was a past for him to remember.