She sat alone in the white room. White floor, white walls, white bed and white chair. The only things that weren't white were the metal bed frame and the rusted faucet that dripped into the white sink. She watched the colorless drops fall, barely able to hear the sound they made as they plinked into the basin. She couldn't hear much of anything anymore. Except the Memories. The Memories spoke to her. Talked to her. Counseled her. They were her friends, her enemies, her family, anyone she had ever known. They were her Memories. They spoke to her during the day in hushed whispers, at night, they came in the form of dreams. They came as angels, demons, animals. Their voices were as variant as themselves. Some high and shrill and angry. Others low and gravelly. Some reminded her of the sunlight she once had know. Others the darkness she feared. They warmed her heart with gently words, but for any goodness there must be an evil, and they were no exception. There were the harsh voices, the ones who chided her, rebuked her, mocked her small pitiful self. Mocked her mercilessly. But she bore their criticisms and spitefulness, for she knew there was no truth in their words. Her mother had told her so.
'Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.'
And words didn't hurt her. At least, not now. There had been a time when they did, many, many years ago. But that time had been embalmed by the memories, preserved in secret places, hidden somewhere within the caverns of her mind. They stored the old times, the memories. Each moment and each incident, each day and each year, each minute and each second, into separately marked drawers and chests that were there for her to open. Sometimes, something would give her the key to unlock them. The memories stored every word, cataloged every action and every emotion in a great chest in the center of her mind. Every now and then, the memories would accidentally release one of the emotions, and it would overtake her. Forcefully it would drive her, till the memories harnessed the runaway feeling and stuffed it back into the chest.
That was why she was here. In the white room with the white wall and white floors and why she was sitting on the white bed, listening to the faucet cry away it's tears. She had no clairvoyant power, the memories told her nothing, it was all she already knew, just bottled up inside. All it was, was what she remembered, only it was second by second, detail by detail. She could have told you the color shirt her father was wearing at her 2nd birthday party. The look on her parent's faces when she said her first word. What was written on her English test in 5th grade. It was all there. But she didn't blame the memories for her being here. It was all because of the emotions. Blasted little things. This mess she was now in, this place, all for emotions who had slaughtered logic. Logic had once lived the with the memories and she missed him terribly. He had the calm reassuring voice that always seemed to know what to do, or at least how to work through it. The memories liked him well enough, for he was as intertwined with her life as much as they were. But the powerful emotions didn't. Anger, sorrow and fear loathed him and it was they who had murdered him. She didn't know how they'd done it. Gradual poisoning? It seemed that he had always been there, then as time went on, his voice became smaller and smaller, until finally one day, it wasn't there at all.
Logic had always been her guide form the time she was small. (A drawer was opened and moment released.) The time she had learned to swim. Her father had tossed her into a shallow pool. The cool liquid surrounded her in an icy womb.
'Move one arm, then the other, kick your feet, just like Daddy told you. There see? You're staying up. Careful now, hold your breath so you don't get water up your nose.' She paddled to the bank and into a warm towel and her father's embrace.
"Well done my girl! Well done! You'll be swimming like a mermaid in no time". 'Mermaid'. The word triggered another memory and the Memories opened a chest. She was with her mother now, cuddled on their old brown couch, eating popcorn from a bowl. The room was dark and the TV before them glowed with bright images. She watched with rapture as the beautiful girl with a fishes tail, instead of legs, and ketchup red hair swam across the screen in her world of singing fish, handsome princes and evil witches. She recalled the taste of salt and crunch of popcorn,. The melting feeling she got when the mermaid and her prince kissed. Her fear as they battled the evil sea witch. She grabbed her mother's hand in that part.
"Don't worry sweetie, it's only a movie." 'Movie.' Another drawer was unlocked and she remembered the small theater, all dark, with him beside her, his arm around her shoulders and a bag of candy between them. A coke sat in his cup holder with two straws in it. She had butterflies in her stomach and she again felt the overwhelming shyness that so consumed her when she was with him. This was their first date. A happy, but awkward and shy occasion. At least for her. He always knew what to say, what to do. She felt small next to him, juvenile, but when he told her he loved her, she felt ten feet tall. They were both young and confused, trying to find their place in the world, and at the moment, their place had seemed with each other. He had been nearly perfect then. Every woman's dream. Dashingly handsome with soft eyes that looked compassionately on all. Sweet, romantic, but all of that had changed. After the first drink.