Blank Memories


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Chapter 1 - Blinding Light

I used to embrace the white, but now it's embracing me.

She woke up in a room—well, she wasn't quite sure if it was a room, judging by the distance that she looked forward into. Blankness surrounded her, and when she looked down, sadly, there was no shadow. A shadow defined a human being, so what was she, now?

The girl was horrified at the situation that she was in: being clouded by white, not knowing how far this goes onto, worried if she'll even find her way back home. Of course, there is a way to get out: kill herself, let her life drift away into a drain. But, no. She was stronger than that, and even more than stronger, she was wiser and would not make unnecessary decisions that others would not need to be aware off.

A tear trickled down her cheek, tickling her pale skin which—consequently—was just a few tones darker than the colour surrounding her. Where was she? Would she be back at home, celebrating her mother's birthday with gifts and family and joy? She wondered, and yet, she was here, pondering... If all of this is a dream, then why does it seem so real?

She would not be afraid, though, for being afraid means being alone—and she was not alone. She had herself, her dignity, her soon-to-be freedom... I hope, she thought to herself, hoping that the imaginary clouds in her mind would take that thought away drifting up into space and make it explode. Exposing herself. That was the last thing she needed.

The teenage girl began to stand up, aware of her surroundings: nothing. And she was standing on something that, beneath her toes, felt like carpet. Yet, when she was sitting down on the floor, her palms pressed against it, it was like she was feeling glass, staining it with her fingerprints and all. How odd.

"H-hello?" She looked around, processing a memory in her mind of the birthday she was at: the celebration, the joy that her mother had on her face, brothers being stupid idiots, and grandparents fussing over the new hairstyle.

"Hello." A voice replied, except it sounded more mechanical than a human voice. Almost like a robot. "Welcome to the Wishing Factor, Lisa."

Yes, this was definitely a dream. Lisa even felt her eyes blurring up at the sight of it, the memories closing in on her like a storm drifting her away, away... away... and then she was back in the Wishing Factor.

Her thoughts were jumbled up in her head, but this didn't mean she was going to be weak, or go out and kill everyone she could find—if she could, anyways. No, this only meant the freedom that she deserved. This meant she would try and find answers... Correction: she will try and find answers.

"W-w-who are you?" Lisa asked, her voice trembling with a scared reaction, her eyes looking off into the non-existant distance. Her head felt like it was splitting, releasing the misty thoughts that she had, trapped inside her brain for sixteen years. She couldn't let them release—she stood up straight, and repeated herself, "Who are you?"

"I am your Wishing Master, dear. Think of something you would like. Anything at all. And your wish will be granted."

Lisa thought this Wishing Master reminded her of a fairy godmother, with all of the balls and gowns and sparkly red shoes. Oh, those gorgeous colours surrounding her. At this, Lisa looked down: she was fully naked. She covered her privates with two hands, and squashed her legs together, and said, "Um... clothes?"

"Wish accepted."

Then, a light broke off above her, and she could see a closet dropping down to the ground, coming closer.

It's going to crush me. I'm going to die. I need to stop hesitating and move to the side. I need to do something that will help me live. I need to, I need to, I need to—

She jumped to the side, skidding on her butt's skin, moving just out of the way to find a closet in front of her. She ran off with excitement, with no grin or smile planted against her face, and then threw open the closet door, finding a t-shirt, underwear and some jeans.

Lisa put them on in record time, and then had an idea: she stepped into the now-empty closet, then closed the door behind her, and went into a position to sleep. Sleep. What a blissful word. And she slept, letting her worries and concerns drift into another dream to get out of this madness.

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Max Sillitoe

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Chapter 2 - Survival

This is definitely a dream. Lisa remembered the darkness swallowing her, and then the blurriness of dreams taking her over, washing her with shadowy memories—some hers, some others. There was a time when she used to think that her dreams were not hers, and from someone else's mind, taking her away into the misty roads that was going to be a life of misery. She could remember looking in her bathroom mirror: her bloodshot eyes burning on her face like fire licking at her, its tongue savouring her inch by inch, but all of it was different now. This was a dream.

A shadow was running around her like a tornado, swallowing her up into his mouth, and it felt like it was hurting but she couldn't be extremely sure. The mist flowed into her, like a substance of darkness that was not a part of her but that was soon to be. She screamed in the darkness, her bloodcurdling wail digging into the shadow's skin, melting into ashes around her, and then she saw the young man in the black suit. He smiled, and then his mouth opened, green rays shining into her, blowing up the night into an explosion of colourful madness—

And, what was worse when she woke up was that she woke up in even more darkness, with only shifts of white light coming through the closet door. She needed the light from the spooky, eerie dream that had invaded her last night, covering her in memories. All of these memories started coming, and then going, but she just wanted her own space. Even though it felt like until forevermore came, she decided that she better stand up so her legs don't get stiff from the position she was in for however hours it was that she slept.

She felt her muscles stretching, and as they did, she groaned in pain, then yawned just for the sake of it. She couldn't feel anything in her that wasn't pain and blurry figments of her own imagination. Lisa wondered if this was it. Was she finally going to see the light that is her life? She hoped so. All of these emotions were building up inside of her, and she didn't know how to express herself in a right way. She felt like she was going mad, but she hoped it was only just this—the Wishing Factor.

I can't, I can't, I—

At that, she punched the side of her closet, blood dripping down her knuckles and pieces of wood splintering her skin, making even more scarlet flow down her hand. She shook her hand violently in the air, watching the blood splatter onto patches of light and dark.

She walked out of the closet, finally, absorbing the whiteness and hoped for a better day than yesterday—that was if she had slept for more than 12 hours or somewhere around that figure.

"Good morning," the voice said for good measure—and it was starting to scare Lisa, like a robot coming down in her dreams (no, too many memories, too many dreams, too many—), "Lisa, what do you wish for?"

She couldn't even think, now. She wanted to go home. She wanted water. She wanted a drink. She wanted food. She wanted more sleep, but no dreams. She wanted to go home, home, home, but more than anything, she wanted to see her mother. I can survive without my mother. I can't survive without home.

"I wish to go home."

"Wish declined." The voice was automatic, but only now it felt like a human rejecting her. She couldn't believe this. Why? Why couldn't she just go back home? Why couldn't she be away from possible danger? Why couldn't she? It was only reasonable to get out of her, away from this place, where she'll be safe and sound, away from the monsters that haunt her almost every night. She wanted company. Security.

A home.

"May I wish for something acceptable, then?" She asked, her voice not shaky now. She knew what she must do. She must figure out why this was here. Why she was here. She would not wish for answers, though. She would build up her white room into a home. Her warehouse into a ware-home.

She would be free to do whatever.

Her own master.

"You may."

"I would wish for a bottle of water." She nodded her head while saying it, like she knew this was what she needed. A drink to refresh her mind. She knew the feeling of water on your skin, drowning yourself in happiness.

"Wish accepted." The voice seemed to have emotion in it, but maybe that was just Lisa losing her sanity, and she was eventually going to go mad, be insane. Locked up in her own prison.

A large bottle of water dropped from nowhere and into her hands, the liquid sloshing around in thick waves. Looking at it was like looking at a million dollars—and she would savour it bit by bit, making sure that all of her would drink all of it soon enough. She could last at least two weeks with this, and soon, she would build up all of her things and run out of here alive. One could only hope, though.

"Signing off." And the voice disappeared into nothingness.

My name is Lisa and I will not be afraid.

She opened the lid of the water bottle, accidentally dropped it on the ground, and after she had took a big gulp of air, she had a drink. Not too much, but not nothing much so that she could have chapped skin, dry lips, and cracking bones.

It was better than nothing, however. She picked up the lid and screwed it tightly onto the water bottle, then placed the bottle on the ground, making sure not to tip it over. Though even if she did, all it would do is fall, no water escaping it.

What should she do, now? Just wait here? Hoping for a day to get released? Hoping for victory? When would she get out? Would she get out with all of this stuff crowding her in her mind—?

Oh gosh, another memory.

She was staring at a bowl, filled to the top with scarlet blood. Lisa was not afraid. She knew what blood looked like, because this could not be cordial. She knew what it tasted like from life experiences—the bitterness, the temptation, the glory of feeling like a bloody vampire.

Dipping a finger into it, she traced a line of blood that faded quickly on her skin. It was a thin red line, with no cut, but she had hoped it would look more realistic by cutting herself, not that she was depressed or anything.

Immediately after that, something crashed through her bedroom window, shattering the glass into thin and thick shards, knocking over the blood-bowl all onto her pristine white dress. Then, the something rolled over her foot, and as she looked down, she began to wonder if this was reality because there on her foot lay a head detached from a body, black smoky tendrils escaping the stump. She couldn't fathom it.

And, yet, here it was. Her scream echoed into the night's darkness.

The memory had finally ended, and she was not happy, not sad, but glad that she remembered this one. HELP ME. HELP ME, she would usually scream, but now, she was glad that she had seen a detached head. Looking forward to the future; that was what it made her. She didn't know if she could go to sleep, now, though, and she couldn't drink any more water because she had already had her daily dose—so what was she to do? This must be what she would think to herself every day. All the time. Never stopping to wonder if she could find another human being, waiting for her to speak, to speak up, to yell, to scream her perfect scream.

Lisa's thoughts rattled in her head, and it hurt so badly that she begun to grit her teeth, wishing for the pain to melt into the drain of her life. Pain could be eliminated if only her mother was here. If only...


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