labyrinth

losing your memory

***ONCE READING THE ITALIC WRITING PLEASE LISTEN TO THE SONG LINKED BELOW; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4tVuk0fZufQ ***

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Wake up, it's time, little girl; wake up. All the best of what we've done is yet to come. Wake up, it's time, little girl; wake up. Just remember who I am in the morning. 

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Marine (Marn-ee)

 As a child, the fear of getting caught doing something I shouldn't have been doing petrified me to my bones. I would creep ever so quietly into the kitchen as soft as a mouse, to retrieve a cookie or sweet before dinner. Constantly checking if the coast was clear, as I couldn't bear to face the brunt of my parent's anger if they caught me sneaking an extra treat, after they had dismissed my requests.

 Watching Harry Styles gave me the exact same buzz. I'd firstly look about the room, to make sure no single pair of eyes was already on me, watching my every move. Secondly I'd briefly check if Harry was looking back at me, which more than often he wasn't. And then I'd let my ocean blue eyes linger on Harry for as long as my pupils could maintain focus.

 On a chilly October morning, the heels on my boots clicked in sync with my footsteps against the cold, hard concrete of New York City. I travelled through the sea of people in a mad rush, knowing if I didn't retrieve my precious daily caffeine boost in the next ten minutes I'd be late to work; again.

 The quiet café I had been a loyal customer to for the two years I have lived in the city, had a very familiar and loving charm to it. You could purchase green tea's in mason jars, dabble in a freshly made slice wrapped in gorgeous little gift bags, or even eat in and sip on your coffee straight from a tea pot. The café was very rustic and easy; which was why I loved it so.

 As I pushed open the giant blue and white doors, the familiar sounds of jazz music filled my ears as did the ringing of coffee machines, and quiet mumbles of the very few customers the café had. I was very surprised at just how little business the café made when I first moved to the City, but it didn't take long for me to learn not many people would go searching for a coffee house on the out skirts of Little Italy.

 Crossing my arms against the soft fabric of my sweater, I was waiting somewhat impatiently for my daily coffee. My black boots tapped in beat with the music as I played with the curled strains of my blonde hair. I briefly looked around the room; taking in the surroundings I saw each day. The same elderly couple sat in the back red booth, sharing a small plate of blueberry pie while sipping on their coffees; like they did each day.  The newly wed married couple who were expecting a child sat together at the counter, enjoying their daily breakfast before they both went their separate ways to work. I smiled lightly, playing with the pendant necklace that rested on my chest.

 "Don't pull too hard, love. Wouldn't want that pendant to break." A bold, husky British accent pulled me out of my trance. I could smell the scent of alcohol and cigarettes lingering around him, like I always did; but this time it was much stronger, and laced with a delicious fragrance of men's cologne.

 "I've had this since childhood." I noted.  Keeping my eyes on the barista making my order. "If it lasted through my days of throwing excessive and often dangerous tantrums, I'm sure it's full proof."

 "I know" His husky voice said a in soft whisper, as if he were afraid of other customers hearing our conversation. "I remember it."

 As his strong British accent spoke the words, I felt my heart thump harshly against my chest and my skin ache in goose-bumps. I turned to the assuming stranger, and as soon as we held eye contact my stomach dropped and my heart lost all control. The green eyes that used to take captive surrounding his pupils were long gone. Replacing the usual emerald colour was a wash of darkness, a black as gloomy as coal. And just like someone aimlessly turning on a light, his eyes turned on the switch to my memory.