➢ [𝗕𝗘𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗩𝗜𝗟𝗬 𝗥𝗘𝗪𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗡]
par·am·ne·sia
/ˌperamˈnēZH(ē)ə/
noun
a condition or phenomenon involving distorted memory or confusions of fact and fantasy, such as confabulation or déjà vu.
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"Just a full batch of roses please.. 𝓪...
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YOU
A human can be killed in a variety of ways. Stabbing, poisoning, strangling, drowning, shooting, hitting, hanging, and cutting. There are so many ways to see your blood bleed, and how the color red, which is supposed to represent love, can quickly become a color of death. I'm not sure how I feel anymore. The emotions I've experienced have been prototyped into something else; a phony. But now that my whole being is being erased, I'm not sure who I am anymore.
I put a knife to my neck while speaking in my head with a voice that didn't belong to me. I do not feel fear, nor am I thinking about the future consequences. I slowly let go of my body, the blade's edge remained pushed against my skin, thinly slicing my neck open on the side. Blood trickled down the blankets, and I felt nothing, just as I had expected.
I slid the knife away from my neck and stared at myself in the blade's mirror. With blood still running down, I covered the wound with my free hand, temporarily slowing the bleeding. I sat up, hopped to my feet, and put on some regular jeans and a black jacket after putting the knife in the nightstand. When I exited the room, it appeared that the others were still sleeping.
I entered the restroom and leaned on the sink. Returning my gaze to the mirror, I took a stitching kit from the cabinets and set everything out. With my fingertips, I steadily gripped the string and threaded it through the needle's hole. After a few failed efforts, I successfully got it through and cocked my head to the side, then penetrated my skin with the needle, and tugged the string.
I repeated the operation of puncturing the needle into the other flab of skin and stitching the wound shut. However, for some reason, the stitching brought back a sliver of the agonizing sensation.
"I don't want to live like this any longer," I told myself. "Will I ever be normal again?"
I cleaned myself up and reassembled the kit when the wound was entirely stitched shut. I wrapped it in a bandage and found myself staring back at my reflection. Luna meows as she slips inside through the opening in the door.
As I crouched down to her, putting my arm under her tummy and lifting her up, a smile flashed across my face. As I ran my fingers through her white fur, she purred loudly. "Good morning, princess," I whispered as I kissed her on the top of her head gently. "I'm sure you're hungry,"
She leaps from my arms yet waits for me to catch up. As we both walked down the stairwell, I nodded. As I moved down the steps, my hand slipping over the railing, I let out a sigh. All this touch felt so familiar—like as if I've been here before.
When Luna and I entered the kitchen, I went to the lower cabinets and opened a can of wet cat tuna. I put a cup and a half of raw goats milk, bone broth, and two pumps of salmon oil into her bowl. Then with a spoon, I mixed them up into mush. I set the bowl on the table before gathering some more raw meats such as rabbit liver, smelt, and a quill egg.
