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And Still I Remember

By Joanna Jaguar All Rights Reserved ©

Horror

And Still I Remember

I remember a lot about the day before they brought me here. They all said I wouldn’t, but I do. I remember perfectly.

I remember Father coming into my room the night before. I remember the suffocating weight. I remember fearing the darkness that night, and all the ones before it.

I remember how he woke me up early the next morning, like he always did, and told me to get in the shower before Mother woke up. I remember him wrapping me up in a thick bathrobe, and kissing my head, and "why don't you go into your room and get dressed now, daddy's sweet girl?"

I remember how much I hated being "daddy's sweet girl."

I remember the moving van pulling up across the street. I remember how the pink taffeta curtains that Mother had installed only days before felt against my skin as I drew them back to watch the new family moving in. I even remember the color of the car that pulled into the driveway behind the moving van: dark blue.

But mostly, mostly I remember him.

They said I wouldn’t remember, but still, after all these years I do. I remember how the sun cascaded through the oak trees on the lawn and made his black hair sparkle with highlights of deep red. I remember his smile as he gazed upon his new home, and how his teeth seemed so impossibly straight. I remember how I gasped when he looked up to my window and saw me standing there watching him.

I remember his eyes. Those beautiful emerald green eyes looking up at me with curiosity and wonder. I remember wanting to capture those eyes in a jar as if they were fireflies that would light the darkness that suffocated me every night. As if those eyes, the little fireflies, could keep me safe.

I remember staring at him for what seemed like hours until he disappeared and Mother called me downstairs to meet the nice new family from across the street. I certainly remember the way my heart beat hard in my chest as I took the long walk down the staircase to the front door. I remember the phrase ‘dead man walking’ repeating in my brain.

I remember Mother introducing us, though I don’t remember his name. I was too busy staring into his eyes. I remember her telling me I should bring him upstairs and show him some toys. He was new in town and hadn’t made any friends yet.

I remember the sound of his voice and how it filled my dark world with sunshine. I remember how his laugh tinkled in my ears and how his eyes crinkled at the sides when he smiled.

But mostly, mostly I remember the click of my bedroom door as it locked in place behind me.

I remember asking him if he wanted to play a game, and telling him to sit on my bed. I remember telling him how pretty his eyes were and that he should close them while I set about getting what I needed for our game.

I remember how my secret drawer sounded as it slid open and how the weight of my empty butterfly catching jar felt in my hands as I placed it on the floor by his feet.

I remember singing softly to him, a lullaby Mother used to sing for me. I remember knives, swift like the beat of a hummingbird’s wings and screams that drowned out my song. I remember how sticky the blood felt against my hands and the sound of Mother throwing her weight against my bedroom door, screaming for me to unlock it “this instant!”

I remember hiding my jar and the fireflies within before I heard the crack of the door jamb as Father kicked it in. I remember more screams, and lots of crying. I remember being shaken and how my face stung when Mother slapped it. I remember the sound of sirens.

I remember Father throwing things, and Mother crying, and someone screaming "how could you let this happen again?"

I remember police officers with guns and nurses with needles and doctors who said things like “just tell us what happened, Lily.” I remember my silence.

I remember all the "how are you feeling todays" and the "would you like to talk nows" and the "just be a good girl and take your medications."

I remember that I’ve been here at the Asylum for 2937 days and that today is my 16th birthday. I remember that my name is Lily Walker and that 8 years ago I accidentally killed a boy.

I remember that I didn’t mean to kill him.

I just wanted his eyes; those beautiful, green protectors of darkness.

And mostly, mostly I remember where I hid my butterfly jar.

No one will ever find it.

Write a Review Did you enjoy my story? Please let me know what you think by leaving a review! Thanks, Joanna Jaguar
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elssxa: I love everything about this story. I want more...more...more. This author is superb. I am fascinated by his amazing work. I give him five stars.

Sharon Bergevin: iIt was a good story line...The characters were very colorful and i liked the various direction of each character.. The direction of the story was very smooth and direct.....i would recommend it for others to read this. .....great job ending it with hope......i was impressed by the way each char...

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Bri Hoffer: I couldn't put it down!! The characters are all incredibly likable, and it's so descriptive you can see, smell, and feel thier surroundings. Great story, and very well written. I cannot wait for follow up stories. there were a few grammatical errors, but nothing that I could move right over.

Hemanth Thiyagarajan: MA'AM the story was really good as well as the plot and your catchy writing style.Would i were give a rating it would 9 out of 10A few drawbacks were that you hinted about the upocoming danger in the nd of each chapter of the beginning i felt that it was not necessary only once you could have put...

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Kashaf Azmat: The concept is excellent everything is well defined that you can picture the whole scenario which makes you feel connected to the plot and this is the thing that catches my eye and this what i am looking for in every novel.Keep it up

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matrixmark: I thought that the introduction to this was relly well written and structurally sound in its presentation.The introduction to the cabin in the woods was good too. To me, it felt like a Blair Witch of yesteryear, but the things which you added in about the mutilated boys were certainly something n...

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