Lost Memories

It had been twenty-four years since she’d last seen it, but the place looked exactly same. The wallpaper was torn, the creeping mould having been stopped by the remaining paper on the walls. Unable to resist the urge, her fingers rest delicately on the wallpaper. It was still damp, somehow. She pulls her hand back, wiping the warm droplets on her shirt.

The floor was dry, the tiles dirty with age. They had been dirty since she could remember, as if the children who traversed the halls never cleaned their shoes. It didn’t surprise her, she didn’t clean her shoes very often in her youth, either. Perhaps she contributed to the state of the floor.

“They’re knocking it down in an hour.”

The voice she hears behind her was quiet, as if trying not to distract her. She tries to ignore it, as well as the truth it told. Moving over to a large bar type area, she wipes her hand over the counter. It was dusty, like she remembered. She could see the kitchen through the window nearby. Unlike the majority of the restaurant, the kitchen was neat, the metal tables almost sparkling. While dark, she could see the pristine fridges, the pots and pans, and the cutlery she remembers using all those years ago.

“We have to be out of here before they set up.”

Unhappy with the idea of answering the voice nearby, she walks away, towards the staff room.

The dreaded staff room.

Her hand rests on the doorknob, the sound of her heartbeat getting louder. Her hesitation was obvious, even to her. What lay beyond the door was something she had spent two decades preparing herself for.

“You don’t have to.”

Ignoring the attempted comfort, she pushes the door open with a gentle nudge. Even though she felt like she had forgotten, seeing the dark stains brought back the emotions she had felt that day. The excitement, the pure joy of being with her family. The fear of being alone when the loud sounds started.

Her head felt lighter than she thought, and her grip on the doorknob tightened to keep her upright. She could hear the cries of pain; she could feel the warmth of her mother’s hand on hers’. It was like that day was happening again. The look in her mother’s eyes, the look of pure love as she protected her daughter from her impending fate. The calm in her father’s voice, telling her that she would be okay, that everything would be over soon.

The realisation she felt when her father’s calm voice went silent, and her mother’s eyes were empty. The realisation that the woman standing in the doorway was unaware of her presence. The realisation that her father didn’t know that and thought she would go with them.

She kept her body still for hours, unsure of what to do. When the men and women in blue came through, they found her lying in fear amongst the bodies of her parents. Her dress, her shoes, even her legs and arms were covered in red. Even now, she feels as though the liquid is still there.

Now, twenty-four years later, her brother decided it was time to let go. The owner of the restaurant they had bought only hours before the slaughter, he had held on for decades, hoping his parents would come through the basement door, arms wide.

She had never stepped back in, not until he called her, telling her he would get rid of the whole building and start again.

Hours of arguments led to nothing. She wouldn’t accept it, destroying the last memory of her parents. He was much older when it happened, much more mature. But he wasn’t there to experience it. He claimed the two decades of patience weren’t just for his sake, but for hers’, too. He wanted her to move on, to accept that the trauma she experienced was real.

“We need to go.”

This time, she chose not to ignore the voice nearby. Turning, she stares at the man with her. She stares at his patient smile, noticing the spark of pity he spoke with. He never asked questions about that night. He always let her talk at her own rate, if at all. Even so, he always pitied her. She knew it.

“I’d like to be alone.”

He seems shocked by her statement, his mouth agape. Something told him to stay, but he fought the urge. She watches his feet as they take step after step, until they reach the front door.

“You have ten minutes.”

Silence again.

Empty. Just as she remembered it.

The door to the staff room had drifted shut, but she felt like something was missing. A piece of the puzzle she had forgotten; a page from a diary she’d ripped out without realising. Pushing the door open once more, she noticed a sense of urgency inside of her. Ten minutes.

Her body moves forward, her gaze fixed on the walls stained with blood. There was nothing else in the room, apart from a swivel chair and an empty desk. No metal pieces; no ripped papers. This room, unlike the rest of the building, was different to how she remembered it. In her memory, there was paper everywhere, outlining the contract her parents had signed. The empty coffee cups sitting on the desk, isolated from everything else.

She gazes around the room, feeling a stab of pain in her heart when there was nothing to be seen. There had to be something. A receipt, maybe a book, or even just a note. Something to tell her that it wasn’t just a mindless slaughter, but something that was provoked.

Nothing.

“They’re about to get started.”

His voice, while quiet, could be heard from the entrance. Nothing else follows the statement except silence. It was now she realises that there wasn’t much left to see. Nothing she couldn’t live without.

She hears the yells start, her body inching its way closer to the desk. Moments later, her arms wrap themselves around her knees, her head barely touching the underside of the desk. The destruction would start soon, she knew that.

As all else drains away, she can only hear her heartbeat. The pounding mimicking the sounds she could remember from twenty-four years ago. Her hand resting on the dried blood of her parents, she knows the memories would be lost, and she would be too. 

The pain would be over soon, and that was all that mattered.