Bloody Memory

Prologue

''Hey...is anyone there? Please help me.. It's so dark and I'm scared.. Mom? Is that...is that you? MOM !

Oh no, no, it's not possible... this blood and these traces, there, all around... no, I don't want to, it can't be, I don't want to believe it, MOM, WHERE ARE YOU?

Flic, floc.

My stomach hurts.. I have to eat but.. I can't.. what was that noise? A mouse ? Eh? Is there... is there anyone?

Denis? If this is a joke, I promise I'll make you eat your prune bullshit up your nose!

Denis..?

No no.. not yet.. these screams, these howls, these voices, this blood... all these scratches on the walls.. I know it's you.. yes you, you who made them there... Mom !

MOM !

I don't hear anything, the black is eating me... I'm falling... I'M FALLING! NO, PLEASE, HELP, HELP ME, I DON'T WANT, NO, HELP-''

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Yeah, uh. Forget it, I... but damn... Mom, why did you give me this book? It's not like I know what to say!

''Hello, I'm Lexy Mills, I'm 15 and I have a life like no other, blah blah blah...''

Seriously.. ?

If only...

If only I had written that. If only I had just written my stupid teenage stories... we wouldn't be here. But it's too late. The page has been turned. And the Lexy who could have written these few words, just a few empty ink cartridges on white paper, the one who could have changed everything just by writing, where is she...? She is dead.

I don't think anyone suspected it. Who could have? Nobody, and me last. Everything changed so quickly. My whole life, the people around me... probably because it was me who changed.

But it's too late for the me as a child, this Lexy who disappeared into some deep abyss within me, this kid who sincerely thought she would save the white tigers by selling cakes, this child who always grew up protected from everything , no, even this girl cannot write about her change.

I will never stop being mad at her. She had so many possibilities in her hands, this chance to be able to write me a future rosier than this one, and she threw it away, like you would roll a sheet of paper into a ball with an unfinished sketch drawn on it.

She just had to write, and that's it. We have nothing to do at fifteen, we waste our lives thinking about trivial problems like "does my best friend really loves me, am I going to succeed in making a decent edit of my favorite actress, is will I get a good grade on my next assessment?''. We have life in front of us but we look at the little stones on the path.

All that was required of her was to write. And she didn't. It's crazy how selfish we are at 15.

It doesn't matter, what's done is done, and it's up to me to write a past that would have seemed future to me. A past so far away that I will not be able to restore it as I should have. Or maybe, rather. I must trace the lines of my story, now so dark that I will not be able to tell it as in my younger years. The details will be fuzzy, and my memory will probably cause me to omit things. But now that I have to write my present, only my past can light the way. And believe me...

It's not brilliant.

Yes. My name is Lexy Mills, I'm 19 years old, and I've fucked up my life. How ?

Well, if I'm writing it, maybe it's because I'm trying to understand it myself, right?!