These drabbles were all written from the prompt “Sometimes memories are the worst form of torture.” I picked four different characters to write drabbles with based on this as these four seem to identify with this prompt the most. None of these are happy and all of them are painful, as seems to happen with drabbling quite often. ~Vera
That look in her eye as she stepped backward.
That purposeful step back, the thing she whispered just before she fell.
And she was right.
And he didn’t do anything to stop her.
Because she was right, and now everything is spinning out of control.
He blames himself for everything that happened. Not just with her. Everything.
First his brother left him– betrayed him– and after so many years of not knowing where he went, he showed up again. And it was his job to stop his own brother.
But he couldn’t do it. Of course he couldn’t do it.
He failed. He couldn’t face anyone ever again after such a failure. So he did the only thing he could do: Run.
But the memories of everything that happened are still there. Playing in his mind over and over again until he has no idea where he is or what is actually happening.
He’s alone. He’s scared. He cries out. “Father, tell me what to do!”
She remembers him. She remembers everything about him.
The way he laughed and made her laugh. The way he always smiled at her when she was upset.
The sound of his guitar strings while sitting out on the porch on cool summer evenings.
She remembers his arms around her. He always gave the best hugs.
He would hold her when she was sad and crying, or when she was afraid of thunder.
He would hold her when their parents had been fighting again and the two of them felt like they were on the run.
And as they grew up, she remembered the conversations they would have.
She remembered the time he finally got up the courage to tell her what he would tell no one else.
She was the only one who accepted him.
She loved her brother so much. She thought it would just be the two of them against the world. Forever.
But he had to go and leave her all alone, because he couldn’t take that forever any longer.
And now those memories are raking her insides like broken glass.
He’s gone, and she couldn’t stop him.
Maybe she wasn’t enough for him like he was for her.
Isn’t it pathetic? You try so hard to forget all those awful things in your past, but they just keep coming back to surface, and once they do, they consume you wholly.
You act like it never happened. You never talk about it, never tell anyone about it– not even your precious wife. You’re allowed to keep your secrets, of course, but some things can grow into a poison the longer you leave it sit and try to forget about it.
Those memories are coiled up in the back of your mind like a sleeping snake, but every moment you spend ignoring it, it’s just biding its time.
And at some point, it’s going to take its opportunity to strike you when you’re least suspecting.
It’ll wrap around your throat and squeeze and squeeze until you can’t breathe, until you can’t fight it back any longer, and once you’re sufficiently weakened, it bites.
And those memories you’re hiding from? They’ll be the venom that flows through your veins and paralyzes you. You’ll feel it as it slowly takes your life away and utterly destroys you.
Memories are a terrible thing, aren’t they?
He tries to forget all of those things because he’s afraid.
Afraid of what all of that means. Afraid of what will happen if he recalls any of it.
Of what it was like Before.
Of what it turned into After.
Of where it seems to be going Now.
Everything he says is steeped in lies. To those people he meets on the streets. To his siblings. To himself.
At this point he can’t even trust his memories. Those might be lying to him, too.
It’s Hell inside his head.