Into The Dark: The Story Of Wyatt

Chapter 3: The Problem With Remembering (Part 1)

I used to be able to play piano really well, when I was little. My family would go up to this cottage we had in the woods in the summer and I'd play piano as my mom cooked in the kitchen and my dad would lose at checkers. It was good.

I don't know how to play piano anymore. If I sat down at one, my fingers wouldn't be able to find the right keys and maybe the melody would be right but the notes would be all wrong and the whole thing would just sound a little off.

*****

When I walked down to the hotel's bar that evening right after waking up, I sat down at the counter and ordered. The man tending the bar was older, with a grey-white beard and a button-up shirt that looked like he had worn it a few too many times. He still squinted through thick glasses as he looked for a towel and his motions were slow, like he was walking through honey.

The last thing I can remember was looking at a dusty, old piano in the corner as someone tapped my shoulder and then everything went black. 

*****

Opening my eyes, white clouds shone above me. My whole body was encased in an unbearable cold. As I sat up, the striking contrast between the dark branches of the trees and the luminescent white snow hurt my eyes. When I went to rub them, I noticed that both of my hands were covered in blood. So were my clothes. Red. Everything was red.