Memories

The darkness was suffocating, cold, and smelt of decay.

It took me a long time to realise where I was, to realise I wasn’t breathing. 

I lay there for God knows how long, the first hour filled with panic, the second with the realisation that I wasn’t going to die, that I was already dead. 

Images of my friends and family flashed through my mind, though my memory was shrouded in a fog. The images were hard to fully understand, but they were there all the same.

How did I end up here? Were people out there looking for me? 

I struggled against the weight of the dirt around me, pushing my hands upward until the dirt around me gave in. I hadn’t been buried very deep.

I managed to push the dirt out of the way, I rolled out and onto my back, the sky above me growing dark and cloudy.

Small drops started to fall, hitting my skin, though I couldn’t feel anything. It only took a few minutes for me to realise that I wasn’t blinking, yet my vision didn’t blur, and my eyes didn’t hurt.

I tried to blink but couldn’t and soon the thoughts had gone from my mind, and I started thinking about how hungry I was.

My husband, I had to get back to him. He would be going crazy with stress. The thought had come to me out of nowhere and danced in my mind a moment before it was gone again.

I wiped my eyes, though I wasn’t crying, and felt something sticky. I looked down at my arm and felt my body turn even colder than it already was. My arm, what the hell happened to my arm? It was blotchy, dark blue patches spread over the entire thing. The skin was tacky and had an awful scent. 

I should be panicking, but when my stomach started to growl again, I lost that train of thought too. 

God, I was hungry.

How long had I been buried under the dirt? How was I hungry if I was dead? Maybe I wasn’t really dead?

I struggled to my feet, my legs collapsing under my weight as I walked, causing me to limp and sway unsteadily. I could hear my bare feet slapping at the dirt beneath me, but I couldn’t feel a thing.

I had to get back to my husband.

Memories of him flickered through my mind like a dying candle’s flame. Important one moment but gone the next, replaced with thoughts of eating.

I needed to eat; I needed food.

I staggered out onto the street and realised that I knew where I was. The rain was picking up, obscuring my vision more than the still darkening sky did.

I stared at the park across from me and more images flashed in my mind. I walk my dog in that park, we would follow the winding paths that wormed through the trees every afternoon. It would have made me smile, if I could feel my face.

But I also remembered, my house was down the street. I was almost home.

I look down at my hungry, cramping stomach and saw a dark stain. My clothes were dirty and ripped up, and I had a large gash across my middle. It wasn’t bleeding, the blood had stopped flowing when my heart had stopped beating.

I make my way down the street, looking for the glow of my porches light. I was too calm; I should be panicking. I had always delt with anxiety, yet I didn’t feel scared. My heart sat still in my hollow feeling chest, my rumbling stomach the only sensation I could feel.

I limped until the porch light came into view and for a moment, I had forgotten what I was doing here. That was until another stream of images entered my numb mind. My husband was clear, he was proposing. I looked down at my hand and saw my finger empty. If I could just make it to him, everything would be ok, but before I could think any further into what we could do to fix this, my mind had gone blank again and I remembered how hungry I was.

I made my way up towards my house, stopping each time I forgot why I was here. My stomach growled and I remembered all the food that would be inside.

I reached a patchy, bloated hand out and tried to grab the door handle, but my hand refused to hold onto it, falling lamely to my side. Both my hands weren’t working, I realised. I couldn’t move them very much.

My mind flashed with the image of the loungeroom floor beneath me, my hands under my body, the weight numbing them. A sharp pain had slashed across my back and as I reached back to wipe my useless hands across the skin, I felt a deep cut, though I felt no pain.

I let out a cry though it came out as more of a grunt.

The door in front of me opened and he appeared in the doorway. His face only familiar for a second before the darkness took over my mind once again. He backed up, his face growing pale. His eyes moved over my decaying body, he didn’t look happy to see me, he didn’t rush forward to help.

I tried to scream for his help, but again, only a muffled, animal like grunting noise escaped my lips. My stomach growled again, my mind instantly returning to thoughts about eating, thinking about how hungry I was.

He stumbled backwards, falling onto the carpet beneath him. I stepped inside and felt my stomach cramping in hunger.

               “How, how are you here? You’re dead,” he stuttered.

I tried to reply, I tried to tell him I needed help, but that’s when the image of him punching me flashed into my mind.

He had done this to me.

I remembered my family; they had told me to leave him. I would never see them again.

I remembered his co-worker, the blonde women he had been having an affair with.

I remembered the night I confronted him; he didn’t want me to leave.

Then my mind went black again.

The darkness was suffocating, cold, and smelt of decay.

My eyes focused and I realised that I was on my loungeroom floor. I sat up, my arms hanging by my side. Memories flickered through my mind, him stabbing me, me falling onto the carpet screaming for help. But these thoughts faded into nothing as I thought about how I wasn’t hungry anymore.

It was the strange grunting noise which made me look at him, reminding me of where I was. I watched as he lay there on the floor, chucks of his flesh gone, yet he was starting to sit up too.

He looked at me confused. His face was a mess, a mess that I had caused.

He looked at me for a moment, before any light left in his eyes disappeared, and he stared ahead, looking but not seeing anything.

I sat comfortably, my stomach not hurting, my stomach not rumbling, my mind free of the never-ending thoughts of food. I couldn’t remember where I was, but it only took a few minutes before my stomach started to growl again, before the empty pain in my stomach took over my every thought.

I got to my feet and walked out into the street. The streetlights flickered, as did my mind and memories. I could hear someone screaming somewhere in the distance and started walking towards the noise. Maybe there would be food there.

I continued walking, my husband followed closely behind me. Every so often I would look back at him and see the smallest amount of life in his eyes, but his eyes would glaze over and lose focus before I could comprehend what I was seeing.

My stomach growled.

I needed food.

I walked until I could no longer remember where I was going. I continued walking until the memories stopped coming, until I forgot who I even was, and when I glanced back at the lifeless man trailing behind me, I realised, I didn’t know who he was either.