The Persistence of Memory | ✔

10

Each step echoed more loudly than Nina would have thought possible. The sound seemed to bounce off the cream colored walls, amplified by the narrowness of the space she was in. It rang in Nina's ears, the sharp beat of it nearly drowning out the soft music playing from some as of yet unidentified source.

The notes drifted lazily, soft and tinged with a hint of melancholy that struck a chord in Nina. A faint sense of foreboding settled over her, distant enough that Nina paid it little heed. Her steps didn't falter for so much as a second, steady against the hardwood floor as they moved closer and closer to the end of the hall.

Three steps away.

Nina became aware of a scent in the air—of moss and earth and the smell of ozone during a storm. It was familiar, but still not something Nina could name the origins of. Like sand slipping through her fingers, the memory the scent might have invoked became but a passing thought.

Two steps away.

Nina could see the shining black frame hanging on the wall, the light glinting off the glass covering the picture inside. She felt a small twinge of what might have been relief and wondered where the feeling had come from.

And then, she was standing before the frame. The warm lighting of the hall washed over a painting of a simple landscape. A small cabin, a place that seemed to have stood there through many a summer storm and harsh winter snow, stood in the midst of trees colored in golds and reds with bark as dark as wet earth. The sky was but a sliver of blue-gray behind the warm tones overtaking the scene.

As Nina stared at the picture, a feeling of familiarity rose in her. Memories stirred in her mind, images she couldn't grasp. Her mind felt strange to her—unfamiliar. That sense of foreboding returned, clawing weakly at the walls of her mind, muffled cries of attention that Nina simply couldn't be bothered with. She stared at the painting, serene and composed, while feeling trapped for a reason she couldn't quite discern.

The painting faded, the music stopped. Nina opened her eyes.

She was still lying in bed, the room still dark around her with shadows seeming to dance as the lights from the street filtered through the small gap left in the middle of the curtains. Long silhouettes stretched up against the wall, like spectres watching Nina while she slept. A chill ran down her spine. Her heart pounded in her ears as, with shaking hands, Nina shoved the covers off and got out of bed.

The lights turned on once it was clear she was awake, just as they were programmed to do. The brightness was jarring, her eyes needing a moment to get used to the sudden change in lighting. She didn't bother lowering the brightness. It would help wake her up—keep her alert. Remind her what was and what wasn't, of where she was.

She made it to the bathroom even with her legs feeling unsteady and her heart still beating wildly in her chest. Immediately, Nina moved over to the sink to splash some water on her face. As the frigid water hit her skin, Nina couldn't help but wish that it would wash away those memories that haunted her still.

Water trickled down her face. Nina's gaze traveled up. Even as her eyes gazed into what was unmistakably her own face—hazel eyes ringed by dark circles in skin that seemed dull beneath the fluorescent lights—she felt a now well known fear creep into her. Green eyes flashed in her mind and it was all she could do not to scream.

She stared back at herself through the mirror, but all she could think about was Alice's unwavering gaze.

Nina felt her mouth open, a laugh pouring out of it all on it's own. It reminded her of how distant her actions had felt in her dream, like any semblance of control she'd ever had over her body was gone—disjointed emotions and actions that were not her own. The thought made her laugh turn into a desperate sound, broken and bitter. She briefly wondered if that was what it felt like to go mad.