𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 (EDITING)

𝟏𝟕

emerson

Standing outside Florence's house, a sense of unease settled within me, amplified by the presence of the police cars stationed nearby. My mind clouded with remnants of the day I had hit myself, struggled to piece together the memories leading me to this point. Flashes of moments flickered in my mind, disjointed and fragmented.

Officer Reid's voice pulled me back to the present, his question hanging in the air. Uncertainty clouded my thoughts, but I nodded hesitantly, grappling with the weight of my actions and the turmoil of revisiting the past.

"Whenever you're ready," Officer Reid murmured, his tone carrying a note of understanding and patience. Drawing in a fortifying breath, I willed myself to recall the events that had led me here.

Scanning the street, my gaze settled upon a lamppost. A surge of memories flooded back, vivid yet haunting. Recollections of physical pain, heavy breathing, and an unsettling presence—the image of the axe loomed prominently, sending shivers down my spine.

I couldn't help but question why I hadn't succumbed to the despair of that moment. What kept me tethered to this world? What purpose, if any, did I serve? The weight of these unanswered questions tugged at my soul, leaving me grappling with the haunting memories that refused to fade.

Walking down the alleyway adjacent to the lamppost, I was met with an assault on the senses—an overwhelming stench of alcohol and decay. My grimace mirrored the disgust I felt, but determination pushed me forward.

As I passed through the unpleasant odors, my head instinctively tilted, drawn by a distant memory. My gaze fixated on a nearby park, a place that held significance in the fragmented recollections of that fateful day.

Stepping through the park's entrance, my senses were inundated with the dampness of the grass beneath my feet and the vibrant colors of scattered flowers and leaves. Amidst this natural serenity, something caught my eye—a small clip lying among the foliage.

A gasp escaped me as I recognized it—it was the same clip I had been wearing on that day. Trembling fingers picked it up, and a rush of memories flooded my mind. "This... I was wearing this when I went to get his drink," I uttered, my voice betraying a mix of shock and realization.

I turned to Officer Reid, the weight of my words heavy in the air. The clip felt like a tangible link to that harrowing moment, a piece of evidence that connected the fragments of my memory, and a chilling reminder of the events that had unfolded.

As I stood there, the beauty of the sunset above me felt almost mocking, a stark contrast to the turmoil churning within. I couldn't help but wish for a different reality, yearning to be anything but present in this world. However, with a sigh, I pushed aside those thoughts, continuing on the path of my memories.

Walking on, I let out a low chuckle, a bitter expression of irony as I caught sight of the shop from which I had purchased the ill-fated drink. A sense of haunting familiarity washed over me as I stepped inside, the surroundings triggering fragmented recollections.

"This shop... This is where I got the drink," I murmured, my voice a blend of hollowness and introspection. Making my way to the drinks aisle, I paused, my trembling hand pointing to a specific bottle.

"This drink... It's how I got this," I revealed, tracing the scar from my eye down to my cheek. The memories flooded back—the incident that had left a physical mark and an emotional scar. A shaky breath escaped my lips, the weight of those past moments almost suffocating.