Dead Jealous

Amnesia

Amnesia. You don't really hear about if often in real life - it seems to be saved for dramatic soap operas. But Sky's life had been somewhat veering towards the soap opera spectrum for a while and this, of all things, was no exception.

Selective amnesia effects those who have suffered trauma so painful that their own body shuts it out as a defence mechanism. That only leaves one question to be asked: what was it that was so painful and traumatic that Sky's own brain blocked her from her own memories?

Maybe, it was because of how the party-goers and police found her. Splayed across the ground unconscious with severe head injuries, of what source was never truly confirmed. It must have been blunt; heavy, too.

Perhaps it was because of the body that lay next to her. Fragile, broken, like a baby bird that was accidentally shoved out of its nest by its own brothers and sisters. Cold blood slowly seeping from a stab wound, gradually forming a grid of red in the surrounding tiles. A carbon copy of the body laying next to it, albeit with longer hair and a rounder nose, redder lips and a stronger forehead.

Her twin sister.

Tara was always the prettier, more popular sister. Whilst Sky's awkwardness seemed to deter people, Tara's charmed them. While Sky preferred to watch movies and wear vintage dresses, Tara went to the beach with her friends and always bought new clothes as soon as they even held a glimmer of possibility to be on trend. Sky had always thought that kind of attitude was futile, merely a means to draw in consumers and milk them of their money as efficiently as possible. But she digressed.

If Sky clawed at her memories, scraped as close to the the surface as possible, she could reach only vague conclusions. The month before Tara's death was a murky one; she had barely any remembrance of its events however meaningful they may have been.

What would not stop niggling the back of her mind, when she really thought about it, was the fear that she had lost a vital chunk of information that could help solve the case. She knew, every time her parents were hunched over in suppressed pain, that this complete lack of knowledge - no clues, no leads, nothing - was a major stakeholder.

How do you forgive, when you don't know who to give your forgiveness? How do you find vengeance when you don't know who to be punished? How do you feel happy, when your first daughter no longer lives?

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
"Honey, I've been thinking about this, and I realise it isn't such a great idea. What if you black out? Or if -"

"Mum. Please. We're just going to the cafe for drinks and a snack. No strenuous or illegal activities."

Sky's mum, André, brushed off imaginary lint of her professional, black skirt. Finally she sighed. For the last three days she had attempted to halt her daughters attempts of freedom in her concern. "Alright, sweetie. I trust you. Make sure you take your meds before we go, you hear me?"

She slipped on some sandals and pulled on her denim jacket, grabbed her purse and scurried out of the house and into the car.

Her mum dropped her off at a small, cute café called 'Ultra Violets' that she and her friends had arranged to meet at - or at least, that's what she told her mother.

Her friends had become really awkward ever since she woke up in the hospital. Barely any of them allegedly attended the funeral, and they all struggled to talk to her nowadays, which she was faintly confusing. Furthermore, they hadn't even offered an explanation.

A couple of days previously her parents and her were in the car, driving home, when she looked out the car's window and spotted the quaint café. As soon as her eyes met the shop she'd gasped with the rush of emotions triggered by its sight. Again, she couldn't remember much. Just the smell of salt, the feeling after laughing so hard your stomach hurts, and the taste of coconut. Had she been at this café in the memory-less period? When she asked her mum, she didn't know anything.