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Dec. 9th, 2011 08:32 amIf I'd been confused before, now I was utterly at sea. I'd been living in a house with four other teens. None of us could remember anything before it, and were all still a little fuzzy on what was happening now. Sometimes we got to go outside with the woman who'd taken us there and erased our memories, little trips to the grocery store or the storage unit. But then--I'd been outside for some reason by myself--somehow someone else had taken me away from her.
This witch didn't bother erasing our memories or else she couldn't. She didn't know about the first one, she'd just been trying to get regular kids. The other teens there remembered everything; I remembered vaguely what had gone on at the first house, and nothing else. One day we were let out for a few hours, told strictly to come back at such-and-such time. A girl and I started wandering. "Oh!" she said after a couple of blocks. "I know where we are!" Her house, her family, her school were close by. Years of memories stretched back. "Where's yours?"
I thought that one part looked familiar--a stone wall at the top of a small hill. We went that way. The girl kept asking me: is that it? is that house it? They were the untidy ones, the ones that needed a paint job, that slumped uneasily behind their yards. I shook my head. All too small.
"That's it," she said definitively when it came into view. It was. It was a big suburban house with a peaked roof, not shabby or untidy... brooding. The housing development had run out of money right after building it so the land dropped off into untilled dirt behind it.
And the house was also sort of a complex of buildings; it had a big modern glassed-in room at the top, where the other three teens who'd been there with me were enduring a party. One girl had fallen for a boy that our witch-mother deemed unsuitable, but through complicated political machinations, he got invited to the party anyway. She was trying to decide whether to go over and talk to him. The others stood around making small talk, looking for their opportunity to reveal what was really going on so they could escape, but everyone who'd been invited had the shiny politician smile that tells you "I'm not going to listen to a word you say" and "appearances are more important than what's really going on".
I wanted to help them, who were still stuck there. But I was trapped myself by the new witch, and even if I ran away right then, well, I didn't remember anything. I don't think even the girl walking with me really knew what had happened to me--she thought I'd just gotten amnesia somehow.
We kept walking.
This witch didn't bother erasing our memories or else she couldn't. She didn't know about the first one, she'd just been trying to get regular kids. The other teens there remembered everything; I remembered vaguely what had gone on at the first house, and nothing else. One day we were let out for a few hours, told strictly to come back at such-and-such time. A girl and I started wandering. "Oh!" she said after a couple of blocks. "I know where we are!" Her house, her family, her school were close by. Years of memories stretched back. "Where's yours?"
I thought that one part looked familiar--a stone wall at the top of a small hill. We went that way. The girl kept asking me: is that it? is that house it? They were the untidy ones, the ones that needed a paint job, that slumped uneasily behind their yards. I shook my head. All too small.
"That's it," she said definitively when it came into view. It was. It was a big suburban house with a peaked roof, not shabby or untidy... brooding. The housing development had run out of money right after building it so the land dropped off into untilled dirt behind it.
And the house was also sort of a complex of buildings; it had a big modern glassed-in room at the top, where the other three teens who'd been there with me were enduring a party. One girl had fallen for a boy that our witch-mother deemed unsuitable, but through complicated political machinations, he got invited to the party anyway. She was trying to decide whether to go over and talk to him. The others stood around making small talk, looking for their opportunity to reveal what was really going on so they could escape, but everyone who'd been invited had the shiny politician smile that tells you "I'm not going to listen to a word you say" and "appearances are more important than what's really going on".
I wanted to help them, who were still stuck there. But I was trapped myself by the new witch, and even if I ran away right then, well, I didn't remember anything. I don't think even the girl walking with me really knew what had happened to me--she thought I'd just gotten amnesia somehow.
We kept walking.
