Rewrite Me

“It’s done.”

“Give it here.” The man snatched the thick stack of paper from the woman, a blank expression on his face. Neither of them said anything; the only sound was the furious flicking as the man turned each page.

Even though it was bright sunlight outside, the room was dark and cold. No daylight was allowed in. The only light source here was the flickering candle on the table at the centre of this sparsely furnished room. All sense of time was lost entirely – the woman had no idea the day, month, or even year anymore. How long had she been down here?

The flicking stopped. The man looked at the woman, clicked his tongue, and abruptly got up. He left the room and locked the door behind him without a single word. The metal door clanged shut, but yet again she was on the wrong side of it. She’d planned her escape multiple times, but each time he came all the strength and determination she’d built up vanished as soon as she saw his cold face. Those icy blue eyes, dead, unforgiving. Razor-sharp jawline. Jet-black hair. Beautiful, but terrifying.

Of course, she had no idea how to escape once she was out of this room. She could have been anywhere in the world. All the woman knew was that this was not her hometown. She’d have felt that. Perhaps she was miles and miles underground, or deep beneath the ocean. And all he’d said to her was that she was not allowed to ask questions, and that she just had to write.

So she wrote about home. It was nothing special, but it was Paradise from in here. Waking up to hear the birds singing their morning tune, the spring air floating through her bedroom window. Drinking fresh-ground coffee on her tiny balcony, feeling the warm breeze on her face, rustling her hair. The sprawling city, her city, running almost endlessly into the distance but at last minute dropping delicately into the sea. She longed for those clear spring mornings where the strip of sea was perfectly visible beneath the cloudless sky of azure.

It was what kept her going. The woman slowly got up from the tatty chair, and went to sit in the corner, where a pile of rags and blankets had been discarded to serve as a bed. She hated this place, but the rough stone floor felt exactly like the patio of her mother’s garden where she’d spent many years running barefoot as a child. Summers lasted an eternity back then, not like this eternity, but an eternity of happiness and excitement and pure innocence. Hours spent inventing silly games with her siblings, dashing through the sprinkler or plummeting headfirst down the slide. Ice lollies at four o’clock. Red for her, green for Sam, yellow for Lucy. Barbecues every night, when Jack got home from work at the Butcher’s. She could hear the sizzling, smell the mouth-watering barbecue smell.

Recalling these childhood memories made her wonder how her mother and brothers and sister were. She’d lost touch after moving out when she was eighteen. Now she wanted to see them more than anything in the world.

Beginning to pace the room, she wondered when he’d come back. The woman had no idea what he used her stories for. They weren’t very good, and they were just a rambling of random memories. Perhaps he just liked the satisfaction of knowing that with every day she was kept in here, the fewer new memories she could make. But still, he could never take away the memories she already had.

The lock clicked, and the door swung open with a loud creak. Fear overtook the woman, and she froze in the middle of the room, even before she’d seen the man. He strode into the room, stopping when he was directly in front of her, so close they were almost touching.

“Sit down”, he commanded, his constant blank expression showing no sign of what he could possibly have been thinking. The woman walked over to her chair like a robot, and sat down.

“They liked it. I changed parts, but it’s done. We’re done.” The woman stared at the man, puzzled. Liked what? Done?

The man was looking at her. She cleared her throat to speak, but all that came out was a hoarse whisper. She could almost sense a faint annoyance, as if what the man had said was supposed to make perfect sense to the woman.

“The book you’ve been writing. I’ve taken your memories and rewritten your past… as mine. Please don’t try and cause and trouble, what’s done is done. And as I said, we’re done now. You can leave.”

The woman was still confused. Why would someone go to all this trouble? Surely he could have made things up about his past?

“H-how?” the woman managed to stutter, “How do I leave?”

For the first time, a slight smile crept up his face. “Just walk out that door. Begin your new life. Good luck.”

Chuckling to himself, he stepped over to the door and swung it open, but this time fully. “Up those steps, and out the door at the end. It’s not locked.”

She got up and scrambled to the door before he said anything else. Speeding up the steps, she could see the door at the top as promised. The woman was about to reach out for the door handle when the man suddenly shouted, “STOP!”

The woman spun round to see that the man was not far behind her. “Stop.” He spoke softly this time, and came to a halt a few steps below the woman. This time, his face was full of emotion – he seemed distressed. He continued, “I’m… I’m sorry. There was no other choice. But you’re on your own now.” With that final statement, the man’s cold demeanour returned. At least, the woman thought, she’d witnessed some humanity from the man.

The woman reached out again, grasped the door handle, and pulled it open. Blinding sunlight streamed in. Gasping, she took in gulps of fresh air, and felt the warm sun on her face. Immediately, her mind was taken back to—

To what?

She couldn’t remember. Anything.

I’ve taken your memories and rewritten your past… as mine.

But that was impossible. Just an hour ago she’d been recalling—

Nothing.

*****

A woman with long dark hair stepped out onto the street. She was breathing in the air as if she’d never breathed before. Her skin was so pale, illuminated by the midday sun, almost translucent. Even from a distance, purple bruises ringed her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept in years.

She was looking around, bewildered, like she had no idea how she’d ended up in the city centre. I’d never seen her around here before, true. But she was utterly clueless. I peered down the street, but saw no one heading toward the shop, so I crossed over the road to where the woman stood.

As I approached, the woman noticed me and let out a surprised, “oh!”

“It’s okay”, I assured, “I just wanted to make sure that you’re alright”

The woman stared. After a moment, she spoke. “Where am I?” She was frantically peering in different directions.

“You’re down Crow Street, by the bank and the gym. Do you want a ride anywhere?”

She looked at me again. Ignoring my question, she cried, “Who am I? Why don’t I know who I am? Why can’t I remember?!” The woman slumped down onto the ground into a dishevelled ball.

I sighed. Poor lady. I pulled out my phone. The police arrived minutes later, and whisked her away, crying and screaming. Turning back around, I saw the queue that was forming outside my shop, so I trundled back across the street, the woman forgotten.