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Written by scrubstains Winner of the "Words and Memories" Contest Prompt: A person eaten alive by memories of things they did in the past finds a way to remove these memories.
A body lies naked and pale against still waters. Dark tendrils of hair frame her delicate face, swaying with the current beneath her frail form. Her eyes are lackluster and unseeing, staring at the endless sea of blues and whites overhead. Bruises decorate her cheek and neck, and dried blood tracking down the edge of her lips that form a silent scream.
"Sir?" A quiet voice breaks his reverie. Albert shakes his head, pasting a forced smile on his lips.
"Sorry, what were you saying?" He asks, his smile growing. Albert can easily imagine how thickly he is laying his charm. He scratches his nape as he looks apologetically at the concierge officer.
"This is your key card, Mr. Alvarez. Your room is ready," the woman explains, handing him the item. "The view is captivating, isn't it? I can't blame you for getting enamored."
Albert takes the item with calloused hands. After gruffly expressing his thanks, he picks his luggage and walks up the stairs.
The bed-and-breakfast is a refurbished ancestral home of an old family in the outskirts of town. It boasts a long history of catering to the crème de la crème of the society of the past generation. Up to this day, these visits are commemorated with pictures from dignitaries and well-known personalities hanging on its walls. From what Albert heard from the concierge, they are anticipating a visit from an A-lister the following week.
He reaches the third floor, where the smaller rooms are housed. He makes his way toward the last one down the hallway on the left. Tapping the key card, the lock clicks. He lowers the door handle.
His corner room must have one of the best views in the facility.
A floor-length window separates his room from the view outside. A sea of luscious greens lines the property as far as his eyes can reach. Clouds hang like canopy against the backdrop of the mountainous terrain beyond the property. The heaviness of the surrounding mist maintains the mystique of the view.
In its centerpiece is the lake.
From a distance, it appears like dark glass in its stillness. Its figure cuts sharply on the evergreens surrounding it, a mirror framed by garland. It is unassuming yet seductive in its quiet.
The rescue boat reaches the makeshift raft first, but he is certain that there is no life to save now. The body remains still and unbreathing. The skin of the woman is ice against his warm palm. The hairs on his arm raise as he futilely feels for her pulse. His eyes strays to the face of the victim, imagining the heartbreaking howl of her parents' cries once they hear the news.
He drops his bag inside the cabinet, methodically arranging his clothes and essentials on the restroom. He splashes his face with cold water. He changes to more comfortable clothes—a well-worn shirt and cotton pants he only wears at home.
