Posted in Blogfest Entries, Challenges and Contests, Flash Fiction Pieces, Story a Day May Challenge, Writers' Resources, Writing in Freedom, Writing Samples

False Memory for Story A Day May: Day One

  • This story is the first in a series of explorations for my upcoming novel, Still Nameless (Kifo Island #8), which I will be drafting in July.

False Memory

Ophelia cried at the baby’s funeral. She knew that because she woke up with the dream still alive within her, and the tears stinging and streaking their way down her face.

She wiped her eyes and looked at the clock: 3PM. Time to get up for her night shift. Mail would be here soon.

It didn’t matter that she knew it was just a dream – a dream she’d had at least three times every week for the last ten years. The truth is, it was more than that – it was the false memory of how things ought to have been, if little Lavender had to die. She’d been holding Marilyn in her embrace – she was smart enough, after all these years, not to leave her sister alone with the reality of the dying baby’s missing brain.

She knew better than to give Marilyn the chance to shoot that last, lethal dose into her ruined veins, leaving her own sixteen year old self the only living relative – Lavender’s father had died of his own overdose the same night his baby was conceived.

Ophelia sighed, and rose just as she heard her mail slot rattle.

There was a postcard on her welcome mat when she got downstairs. Ophelia bent to pick it up; she shuddered a little at the view of turquoise water and a tropical island – that hit too close to what she’d been dreaming. She could almost smell the flowers and decay in the salt-scented air.

Who would send her this? Who would think this was a good idea?

Ophelia turned the letter over. Tiny, scrawling writing, in lavender ink. She squinted, but couldn’t make it out until she went to her desk and got her reading glasses.

“I’m not dead. Meet me Tuesday night at 8 at Still Nameless Pottery Studio.”

Ophelia’s hands and knees shook so hard she had to sit down and brace her wrists on the edge of her desk to be sure of the last words – the signature.

“All my love – your niece, Lavender.”

If Ophelia was at the funeral, how can Lavender be alive?

Who wrote the postcard?

What was their motivation?

Any guesses?

Come back tomorrow for another installment, and we can explore this new story seed together!

Author:

I am myself. I own my life, and live with three other people who own theirs. My intention is to do only those things that bring me joy, and to give myself wholly to those things I do. Writing has been my passion throughout my life, and this will become the home for my writing life...because it brings me great joy!

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