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© Myranda Rae 2023. All Rights Reserved.
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I jolt awake, sweat dripping down my neck. Before I can forget anything I grab my journal and turn on my small bedside lamp. I need to write out all the fragments I remember.
Images of boney hands with long dirty fingernails and rusty chains flash in my mind. I shudder, remembering the screams and smell of blood in the air.
I close my eyes and draw a rough sketch of the hands, forcing myself to picture every detail. The large sapphire ring on the pointer finger has details that are fading, slipping from my memory before I can draw them.
With a deep sigh, I place the notebook under my pillow again. I look around my room in the dim light of my little lamp. I run my hands over the soft pink blanket spread over my legs. When did I buy this? Did I want pink or was that all they had? Do I like pink? I don't think so.
My alarm starts to beep, startling me from my thoughts. I crawl out of bed and begin to prepare for the day. I open my closet and run my fingers over the clothes hanging there. Everything looks brand new. There are no tags, but nothing looks worn. In fact, everything in this apartment looks like that.
Every book, every pillow, everything, none of my candles have ever been burned.
The whole place looks like I purchased it, brand new, set it up, then walked directly into the street where I was hit by a car.
Nothing feels lived in or loved. There isn't a single thing here that looks like I had any kind of connection to it.
I pick a long black skirt and a long-sleeved, white turtleneck bodysuit.
After showering and dressing I make myself coffee in my tiny kitchen. The coffeemaker is the only thing in this apartment that I don't doubt I bought. I love coffee.
When I woke up in the hospital after the accident they brought me some with my first meal. It was love at first sip.
Clamping the lid down on my tumbler, I walk toward the door. After bundling myself into my jacket and gloves I make my way down the creaking, narrow staircase to the street. My apartment is on top of a bakery that closed several years ago.
The cold air hits my face as soon as I open the door. Luckily the library is only a few blocks over.
I arrive just as Florence pulls her car into the lot. She's a sweet older woman, the library's head librarian.
I wish I had opened up to her more before my accident. She hardly knows anything about me. Nothing that I can't find out from my apartment, anyway.
Eight months ago when I woke up in the hospital the doctors told me that over time I might recover memories or fragments of memories from my life before. I still have nothing, not a single memory aside from the horrific dreams. Flo tries to help with what she can but apparently I was very closed off.
"Good morning, Dear" her cheerful voice ringing out in the frozen, silent air.
"Morning, Flo" I take the last sip of my coffee "it's freezing today!"
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Alpha's Little Mate | 18+
Fantasy[Exclusive to Patrons] Annie Smith is a twenty-two year old librarian living in a small North Carolina town. She is desperately trying to piece her life together after an accident leaves her with no memories. Alone in the world she uses her tiny apa...
