A Polaroid Without a Memory

Old photos always seem to have a lasting effect on the mind. Most people believe they remember that specific moment, the smell, the temperature, whether they were happy or sad; but that isn’t really true. No one actually remembers a photo, it's just an image of ourselves created in a pix elated world that the mind forcefully tries to spark a feeling or correlation to what the photo means. I however, still enjoy the crisped fixtures of opted memories of my childhood, boxed away in dusted containers that seem to always call me back to relieve a distant moment that seems to have left my mind with a faintness of a whisper. Pictures do bring out a spring of nostalgia that leaves me unable to restrict my toothy grin,even the ones where I’m balling my eyes out as a young girl looking for a way to con my parents into giving into my childish demands. But as I reached the bottom of the old papers at the end of my moving box, my eyebrow arched while my brain spun. A Polaroid stuck to the side of the box, gleaming in dust. Instead of a lifted smile, I was constrained into seriousness because something wasn’t right. Nothing was right, it was shaded, not as bright as it once was perhaps, but I could still make out the image that rotted my brain to look through endless files of possibilities. It was me, but it also wasn’t at the same time. 

  There was me with a wide broad smile, which I would have been happy to see if it weren’t for my eyes. It was sole-less, it didn't wrinkle in the corners, it laid still with a motionless feeling even with that bright grin. That shouldn't have been anything outlandish, I just could have been an upset child because I was being forced to take a picture, or I was mad, but my mother pleaded with me to smile anyway, however weird that may be. That should have been it, instead my pupils dilated, absorbing the scene around me. My wrists were confined in black duct tape, the small naive hands tightly held onto a bladed kitchen knife that was colored in a maroon color. Panic set into my stomach, but I stayed frozen unable to process any reaction, just disbelief. I can’t remember any of this moment, was it some Halloween picture, a sick April fools joke? I couldn’t remember a single aspect of this moment. I wasn’t even that young seven or eight is what it looks like compared to my other old photos. I moved the photo closer to my eyes and immediately dropped it and fell to the ground. Heavy breathing cramped my chest. I used to get panic attacks in my teenage years, but it hasn’t happened since then. Now it resurfaces within the depths of suppression. The sheer terror I witnessed broke my body into a trembling mess, fuzz filled my eyes, pain pounded in my head. A memory clicked into my mind that brought me back to the day I never knew happened. 

  The school bus screeched to a halt and the rusted doors hesitantly opened. Shoe laces flew around, untied and covered in brown muck, but I continued to hop down the steps ready to make it to my house and be greeted with the smell of unique food and melting candles sprouting around every room. It was home, naturally, it was something that brought bittersweet joy. I don't remember much of the walk home, maybe a dog or two being walked around the park, but nothing else of importance. I don’t think there was anything off, or maybe I just never looked, too happy to notice a flash or hear the printing of someone else's memory. As I stepped back into my home, the joy I’m used to feeling was negated by the churning of my stomach. The tightening of the stomach was brushed off into a feeling of hunger and I stumbled into the kitchen but froze when I noticed a cat laying peacefully on the warm tiled flooring. Its fur puffed up around him, the gray illuminating in the sun that seeped through the window. I immediately went to pet the stoic creature as humming bounced out of its throat, closing their mindful eyes into bliss. 

  “A picture” I whispered to myself “Stay right there I’ll be right back.” I ran to my room throwing around junk hiding the floor of my closet. Moving deeper into the mangled mess the shimmer of the bulb that zones in on moments found its way in the corner of my eye. As my fingers taped the smooth shine of the camera, a door creaked. Most likely my mom coming in to greet me after a long day of working shift after shift to make ends meet. But something peculiar happened. My fellow creature of a friend hissed with intense hatred, I could feel the anger just through noise alone. My mother must have gotten scared with an unexpected guest in her home so I ran to aid my companion. 

 “Mom don’t be scared, that's my new friend he-” My voice seemed to have disappeared when I noticed a man smiling menacingly at what he stumbled upon. The gruffly monster of a man didn’t bring me to paralyzing fear, instead it was my mother. She was Bounded by duct tape with a kitchen knife forced upon her smooth hands. The creature walked towards me bending down to my level as if he wanted to comfort me or ease me into submission like a mamba slowly tightens its prey in a hug. 

 “Don’t be scared Autumn, I’m just a new friend.” His eyes were bloodshot and almost protruded out, but still, somehow, moist; because his eyes were glazed over as his chapped lips tore when he kept widening his smile. 

 Within moments he grabbed onto my hands and I began to cry. My mom tried to speak to me, but I couldn’t understand her which only made me cry more. He swiftly grabbed my mouth with his other hand leaving a bruise on my wrist. 

  “Now you shouldn’t cry. Crying leads to consequences and you don’t want your mommy getting hurt do you?” His voice was so calm, he seemed to be a charmer, but in this moment he showed me he is just a shape-shifter, slithering his way to create chaos within the comfort. 

  With a tear streaming down I let out a cracked plea, “Please don’t hurt my mommy.” For a split moment he released his smile petting my hair as my face was sopping wet. He hushed me as he grabbed a box that was behind him opening it up for me to grab. “Take it.” He was quiet but still stern, it was a threat if I didn’t grab the item so I did. The steel cold knife was big in my hands and jitters seemed to vibrate the sharp blade that could impale skin without jabbing it in. With the black duct tape it suffocated my once peaceful hands that now are forced into violence. 

 He touched my head one last time and with a smile said “Now stab her.” My eyes widened and my lungs sped up my breathing, within moments terror was going to be sliced in this very room, tension was just beating its way harshly in the room.

"Go on. Stab her, don't you see she is threatening you with a knife. Stab her." He tried to initiate a fight, his twisted mind seems to have negated what a bond between family is.

Both my mother and I whined in endless pleas both our weapons pointed directly at one another. Without a second's lapse the stranger bumped me closer to my caregiver. 

  “No stop, please not my mommy! I don’t want my mommy to die! Please, please, please.” I cried once more, he seemed to enjoy that about me because as my eyes were closed he pushed me again. In that moment I wish I had opened my eyes, I wish I had moved, ran to him, I had the weapon. Why did he have the control? 

 My mother was now silent, I hesitantly casted my eyes to the scene. A blade, impaling the thin skin of my mother’s neck. Eyes lidded open widely, fear was all that was left of my dying mom, the one that truly loved me watched as her only daughter, was the culprit of her death. 

 “Mom?” realization sets in. “No- no, no no no no!” I dropped to the floor, my knees staining in the blood that swallowed around me. The creature walked around to the camera that was intended for the beauty of a cat, but is now being used as a memory of death and betrayal. 

 “Smile” He chuckled as he seeped his pupil into the camera. I continued to whine. 

  “Smile.” He said again this time he shouted, lifting his foot he bashed into the skull of a lifeless body, she was now mangled I lost the image of beauty when my mother died. Her jaw now loosely agape, eyes protruding more than they once were, paleness succumbed to her cold body.

I smiled. And as the flash was brought upon me, so was the setting of reality. My panic attack is still tremendous. I forced myself to get up, my body limp, but my mind repelling the memory. It must have been a scenario I procured in my mind to explain this picture. I can't actually remember what happened. If it actually had happened I would have remembered it there would have been reports on a young girl tragically losing her mother to a maniac who was on the loose and is now jailed for his crimes, but that didn't happen so this sinful picture didn't happen either. It isn’t real, it just isn’t. Right? A creak in the front of my door halted my spiral. My father’s voice echoed all the way into the garage. 

 “Don’t be scared, it's just me!" Terror lured my eyes to the door. With the silence he shouted again, something that seemed to have made my stomach drop.

"Hey, Autumn, you won’t believe what photo I found. I can't even remember it.”