ann-hanover

[ann-hanover]

Fueling the Fire Part 2

Here's part two of my short story, personally I like this half better. Let me know what you think!

“You cheated on her!” 

Amelia’s voice boomed through the restaurant, numerous people throwing looks at her. Especially, Jameson, the guy she was currently yelling at. This morning, Jameson had called Amelia he didn’t sound like his normal self and Amelia took notice of this right away. He was, to put it simply, depressed. A pit of hate and sadness had formed within him after being broken up with so many times, but this situation was much different. His ex, Melissa Dower, claimed that Jameson had cheated on her. Not once, but twice. The whole school had heard and now Amelia had too. 

“I didn’t cheat on her,” Jameson cowards. 

“You didn’t cheat on her?” 

Amelia gave him an odd look, she wanted him to tell her the truth no matter what. This time she was having a hard time believing his side. 

“People don’t just make that up,” she says, looking at him disappointed. 

With frustration growing, Jameson rubs his head staring at the burger in front of him intently. He expected out of all people for Amelia to understand the most that he would never do something like this. Even with the lengthy dating history he held. He never thought about cheating for one second.

“I did not cheat on her,” he states, straight and simple. “Melissa is lying.”

“Why would she lie?” Amelia grills him, squinting her eyes at him dangerously. Jameson doesn’t feel an ounce of fear, not even for a second. Instead, he grins, one of those shit-eating grins that pisses the hell out of Amelia. 

“Trust me,” he starts. “You don’t want to know why she made that up.”

Amelia looks at him and quirks a brow. Curiosity suddenly bubbled up in her. She wasn’t one for drama or even cared about it too much, but ever since she met Jameson her whole social life changed. People knew her now and it was all because of him in a way. Most of the things she does nowadays are because of Jameson. She was actually going to school every day and even made a few friends along the way, but none like Jameson. 

In all the years of their friendship, Amelia hadn’t seen Jameson like this. Yes, he’s dated plenty girls. And Melissa didn’t seem to be a different type of breed, but yet she affected him. It made Amelia’s head twirl with thoughts and different conclusions. All that mattered, in actuality, was that Jameson was okay and could be okay for the rest of the night. Amelia stared at her wrap, picking up one half and taking a huge bite out of it. It was best not to push for now, he would tell her everything that happened between Melissa and them in due time.

They both ate, in silence. Not an uncomfortable one, but more of an understanding one. As they finished up each respective meal, Amelia perked up.

“Wanna head back to my place,” she said, innocently. 

With a bit of burger in his mouth, and ketchup on his lip, he opened his mouth to let out a, “What?” He was flustered at the question, a pang of giddiness in his heart, but for what? For Amelia asking him to go back to her place? He had been to her place a million times, but it seemed different to him this time. Maybe Melissa had a point in the first place.

Amelia shifts in her seat, “Come over, we’ll smoke and watch a movie or something…”

“Oh,” Jameson says, a little disappointed. 

What could he have been disappointed in? Even Jameson was a bit confused by all this drama around him. Maybe he did need a moment to sit back and relax. And, he and Amelia have smoked since high school together so nothing was actually that different.

\ “You don’t want to,” she questions.

“No…I mean. Yes, I do.” 

Now Jameson was stuttering, why was he stuttering? 

“Ok, weirdo.” 

------

Amelia didn’t live far away from the restaurant they were at. They both were standing next to each other, walking home side-by-side. Jameson was oddly aware she was there, any time she brushed up against him he would move to the side slightly. Giving her more space on the sidewalk. Eventually, they reached the bricked stairs leading up to her apartment unit. They trudged up the stairs, trying not to make so much noise for the neighbors who might be asleep. Amelia raised her key, sliding it into the keyhole of her wooden door. Letting the both of them in. The place wreaked, just like Amelia herself, with weed. 

Immediately, she walked over to the couch. Kicking her shoes off in one motion and falling back onto her couch. Jameson still stood at the door, gulping back an odd feeling he just couldn’t shake. Amelia looked up from the couch, making direct eye contact with Jameson. 

“Why are you just standing there,” she says, gesturing for him to come over. 

He does so, strutting along over to her. She gets up as soon as he sits down, walking over to her room which is slightly smaller than her living room. She was living a modest little life, unlike the one Jameson was living himself. It was always nice to be here though, he thought. A few minutes later, Amelia is coming back out of her room and into the dining room with a glass bong in her hand. It was a UFO one, with a cow welded into the middle of it. 

“It’s new,” she said, twisting the glass a bit. 

Jameson nodded his head. 

“Want to take a hit with me,” she asks, gently. As if her words were hurting him in some way. 

“Yeah,” he responded. 

They wasted no time, Amelia had already ground up some Trainwreck OG from earlier in the day. She put it in the cone, sliding it into the place before placing her lips on the glass tube. Her lighter flickered and struggled to stay lit against the earthy substance. Then she sucked, smoke filling the glass chamber and her lungs. She blew out a cloud, passing the bong to Jameson who gladly took the glassware. 

One hit, two hits, and then three hits. Both of them lay on the couch, looking up at the popcorn-style ceiling. Jameson felt high, high enough to tell her the truth. 

“Melissa thought I was cheating on her with you,” he says.

Amelia almost missed that, but when she heard it she jumped up. Her eyes were red and a little glassy from the coughing spells she had. 

“I told her there was nothing between us, but…,” he trailed off. 

“I’ll talk to her!” 

“No,” he says. “There’s nothing more you can do.” 

“Nothing more?”

Amelia was in disbelief. Had he given up? 

“Why do you care so much anyway,” Jameson prods. 

Amelia falters for a moment, aloof for a minute. Why was he getting snippy with her? She was just trying to comfort him in his hard time. 

“I’m sorry, should I not care about you at all? My fucking bad.”

Jameson rolls his eyes, falling back onto the couch in a dramatic fashion. The weed was getting to him, he wanted to get chatty. 

“I didn’t say that,” he groaned. 

“Sure sounds like you did.”

They were quiet for a moment, Jameson on the brink of exploding. Amelia, like usual, unwanting to talk. She chose to pick up her TV remote to diffuse the situation; Switching it on with the power button. The news popped up, and nothing new or eye-catching was on. She flipped to the next channel, it was some child cartoon of a Rubber Chicken and a kid who was controlling it. Amelia’s hand tightened around the remote, she skipped the channel bothered by the silly behavior. A movie popped up and Amelia didn’t frankly care what it was about, but she left it on. Clearly, something was going on. Amelia couldn’t bear it anymore.

“Is something wrong,” she asked, or rather, commanded. 

Jameson jumped up like a dog waiting to bark. 

“Now that you mention it, there is.” 

“Oh,” she scowled. She kinda wanted him to say no to that question. 

“I’m bothered by this whole situation,” he admitted, rather accusingly. 

Amelia’s face contorted for a moment, a look of confusion plastered. 

“What are you talking about?” 

Jameson got up from the couch in a swift motion. Well, almost a swift motion if it wasn’t for the weed in his system he probably wouldn’t have stumbled over the rug a little. Amelia turned her head, suppressing a chuckle at his accident. She had a tough image to maintain though. Amelia was never going to let her guard down around him ever again. 

He approached the front of the room, his eyes were a tad swollen. Not like they used to get, but a friendly reminder of what they used to be. He placed his hands limply at his sides, his expression amazed. 

“I know Amelia,” he said matter of factly.

“What?”

“You’re feelings for me.”

“What?”

Now Amelia was off the couch, a few feet away from Jameson. A good few feet she would like to maintain. Amelia bit her tongue momentarily, wary of what to say to him. Many thoughts had raced through her head and the people who could’ve slipped up around him. Jameson, who stood just a few feet away from her, a few feet he didn’t care for. He raised a hand, motioning for her to talk. Something, just something to fill this suffocating silence. 

“It was a long time ago,” she admitted, bitterly. “You didn’t feel the same.”

“You didn’t tell me!”

There he goes again with an accusing tone. Amelia shriveled as if she had done something wrong. He was dating so many girls back then, did she really matter in his mind at all? She didn’t think so at least. 

“It didn’t matter, it was a phase,” she waved off, flopping back onto the couch.

Jameson was suffering. His head was aching and his heart was aching. And he hated the space in between them right now. This is not how he wanted to spend his precious Tuesday night off!

“You wanna know what I told Melissa when she accused me?”

Amelia’s face dropped. 

“Nothing,” he said, bluntly. “I didn’t deny it.” 

Amelia’s eyes narrowed, judgemental for a moment. Then disgusted. She saw exactly what he was trying to do. And she was not having it. Not after all these years she spent getting over this pain in the ass. She cried over him countless nights and dreamed that maybe one day he would feel the same. Then she realized what type of guy he was, someone who moved on quickly. That scared her. 

“Then I can see why she broke up with you.” 

Oh now that was cold, Jameson shuttered at that. He knew she was downright mean, but he thought he was the exception to that kind of wrath. It seems he was wrong and felt dumb for being so. On the other hand, she was protecting herself. Not that he knew that, but he was trying to if she would just let him. 

“Don’t do this,” she said. 

“Do what,” he jeered. 

“That. All of this,” she made a quick hand gesture around the room. 

“Melissa told me. She told me what you said, the night she overheard you.”

“Jameson,” she hissed, warning him. 

“You cried, to Heather about how happy I looked…” 

Amelia froze, eyes stuck on him in disbelief. First of all, her privacy had been invaded by Melissa which already pissed her off. Now, her business, which she only told her closest friend, was getting around. She couldn’t believe this conversation was happening now out of all places in her apartment. Her own home where she would replay this scene over and over again. Jameson was far from over, he was just getting started. 

“Or how much you regretted not telling me four years ago when your crush started!” 

He was angry and that was plain as day. Nothing clouded his judgment there. If she had just fessed up, that would’ve solved so many hardships for the both of them. 

“Shut up, Jameson,” she precautioned. 

“That was recent-”

“It was months ago,” she broke. “I’ve gotten over you. Like I have and always will.” 

Jameson shuts his mouth, frowning at her. “That’s unfair.” 

“It’s not. There was never any reason to tell you. You were with other people.”

“Oh don’t do that,” he leans back. 

“You were,” she threw her hands up, defensively. 

Jameson couldn’t believe she was pulling this card. His man whorish past in high school, after that, he only dated a few women, and even then it was scarce. Then again, Amelia never dated anyone in high school which is when this crush started. He shook his head, the emotions he had causing him a pounding headache. And it seemed the joint’s effects were wearing off both of them and they were stuck with the complicated reality in front of them. 

“You could’ve told me,” Jameson breaks the silence.

Amelia scoffs, “Would it have changed anything?” 

Maybe she was right he thought to himself. It probably wouldn’t have stopped his antics of feeling alone, but things had changed for him now. His feelings for her had blossomed into a new sense. If only he had noticed it years ago. The way she looked at him every time he would lean on his locker to talk to some cheerleader passing by. She envied the girl and she hated herself for that. 

“You should leave,” she says, coldly. 

“Leave?” Jameson didn’t expect her to be blatantly uncomfortable to the point she had to kick him out. That wasn’t his goal at all, but yet again he didn’t have a set plan for this predicament. He wanted to stay with her and try to work this out. 

“Yes, go.”

Amelia pointed her hand at the door, giving him one of those looks. Just like the first time they had met, she was threatening him with that stupid look she had. It pissed him off frankly. How dare she try to kick him out when he was expressing how he felt! She couldn’t do it, but that didn’t mean Jameson couldn’t try.

“I want to talk about this,” he says, foot embedded in her rug. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.” 

Amelia was having none of it, shooing him off, but he didn’t budge at all. She sighed, this wasn’t going to be easy. This was a vault of emotions she had sealed off and for a good reason. She walked past him, towards her room. The only place, besides the bathroom, that had a lock. Jameson protested, following after her but he only managed to stub his toe on the door right as it shut and locked. 

“Amelia,” he banged. “Come out!” 

“Just go!”

She was stubborn, too stubborn and Jameson knew that. 

“Amelia,” he called.

She didn’t answer, she slid down on the door ear pressed against it.

“Don’t you wanna know how I felt when I heard?” 

Her heart ached, she sighed. How did she let this happen again? She placed her head in her hands, cowering and waiting silently for his story. 

Jameson rubbed his head, his headache only getting more persistent. Forehead against the door, he wondered if she was even listening to him at all. A few moments of silence followed, a dreading feeling building up in Jameson. He was losing her and it made his skin crawl. 

“Amy, please,” he pleaded, gently tapping the door. 

The door opened, and Jameson fell forward slightly. He looked up, only to be met with conflicted eyes. 

“You’re evil,” she stated, a worried look on her face.  

She cared, no matter how many times she told herself not to. She needed to hear this answer for her health. At least, that’s what she was telling herself over and over again. 

Jameson gulped, “I was shocked.” 

Amelia sighed, grief striking her again. She put her hand on the door, but Jameson managed to wedge his foot in the frame this time. 

“Let me finish,” he panicked. 

He pushed open the door, moving both inside her dimly lit room. 

“I was shocked, at first. It’s not what I was expecting to hear-” 

“Get to the point,” she cuts him off. 

He clears his throat, spitting out a blurb of words. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Every day, you’re my first thought. Every day since I met you, you’ve always been my first thought.” 

She swallowed, harshly. Those words, she never expected him to utter. At some point in time, she was in the shoes he’s currently in. 

“I just hadn’t realized it soon enough.” 

He shifted, placing his whole weight on his left foot. Jameson was uncomfortable by the no response. It made him feel like he was doing an irreversible thing. 

“Can you say something,” he says, looking for any bit of comfort. He searched her eyes which were oddly sparkling in the darkened room. 

“What do you want me to say to that,” she whines, disappointed. 

If only, this had happened earlier on in their timeline. Maybe she wouldn’t have been so hateful towards him and his feelings for her. Jameson lowered his head for a moment, unsure of how to answer him back. A part of him hadn’t decided just exactly what he wanted from Amelia now, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to lose her. She had been the only consistent person in his life for a long time, and it will stay that way. 

“Look,” she folds her arms. “If this is just physical-”

“Amy, it isn’t that,” he rebuttled.

“Then…” 

Amelia was at a loss for words. It was the only time in her life when she had no clue what to say. 

“Give me a chance,” he says, eyes pleading. “One chance.”

Amelia gulps, “I gave you a chance already.” 

He grabs her arm, desperately. 

“Amelia, go out with me?”

Her eyes widened, ripping her forearm away from him in one swift motion. She stumbled back words, his words burning into her heart like a brand mark. 

“Please,” he begged. 

Now he was begging and it intrigued Amelia. After all these years, after all these women, he had never begged. Her mind swayed. Her feelings were on a seesaw and it seemed neither side was weighing down. She groaned in frustration, now she had really dug herself into a hole and he was standing right there with her. 

“A date?”

[ann-hanover]

Fueling a Fire Part 1

I made this little concept a couple a years ago. I really loved the way there conversations flowed. It was about 15 pages long so I made sure to cut it up into two different pieces.

With a flick of a lighter, the joint was lit, smoke pouring out of it. The smell of grass graced the air, filling her lungs with the pungent scent. Truth is, she didn’t mind it much anymore. The smell of it or the way it made her smell, she just cared about the way it made her feel. She brought up the round casing, putting it in her mouth, and taking a drag of the devil's lettuce. 

It had been a few months of this. She would watch the soccer fields for an hour or so waiting for any type of movement. Most of the time, classes on the field were done all that was left were the yardwork people cutting the grass and touching up the white lines. And like clockwork, around the fifth period, the hard-working men would drop what they were doing so they could eat. They usually ate inside, which they weren’t supposed to do according to school rules. Yet, she watched the few workers disobey the school's policy and walk into the cafeteria, purchasing themselves lunch. At the same time, she would go out to the soccer field, quickly ducking underneath one of the bleachers. 

No one ever caught her, not when it started and not now. She was thankful for that. She didn’t have much joy in life besides this, so she was thankful. She took another hit, her head feeling light and shoulders loose. It was just her and her joint like it always should be. 

“Is that a joint?”

Then her solitude was interrupted, she nearly jumped out of her skin too.

“Who’s there,” she says, head in the clouds. 

She hides her joint, just at the hem of her shirt. It’s not completely hidden, and neither is the smell, but it did the job.  Amelia looks around for a moment, not a single person in sight. Was she hallucinating?

“I’m up here,” the voice says again. 

Her gaze shifted to above her, someone was sitting on the bench right above her looking down at her. 

“Fuck,” she mutters under her breath.

She had been caught, at school too. That couldn’t mean anything good at all. For a moment, she had a guilty feeling. She knew she was doing something wrong, of course, but it just felt too good to pass up on. The school was too stressful for her. Not something she personally cared for either. To some, this educational prison was the best possible place to be. They had many opportunities, so many friends, and even good grades. That wasn’t Amelia though. 

“Calm down,” the voice starts. 

With a metal thump, the voice was standing, not walking down each bench. Amelia’s skin crawled, the sense of impending doom overtaking her. She was screwed. Slowly, the person bends over. Climbing under the bleacher with her and coming up right next to her. It was a teenager, not a teacher or lawn worker much to her disbelief. It was a teenage boy, not one she knew or cared about, he was staring at her wide-eyed. More specifically, eyes trained on the joint sitting at the bottom of her shirt. 

“If you give me a hit, I won’t tell anyone you were here.” 

Amelia chuckled, biting the inside of her cheek a bit annoyed. 

“This is supposed to be me time,” she says, sternly. 

She takes another hit, this time blowing the smoke at him so he can smell it. And trust me, he could smell it. The boy doesn’t move, instead, he reaches his hand out to her waiting for her to hand him the joint. She does so, reluctantly, unsure of who he is. But she guessed it was a better deal than getting reported to the school and potentially getting expelled. He takes a long drag, his head falling back. The feeling the weed provided washed over him immediately. 

“What’s your name,” he asks, breaking the silence. 

Amelia liked the silence, after all these sessions was just her and herself. This time it was different, she sighed to let him know how unwelcomed he was.

“Amelia, call me Amy.”

He passed her the joint back nodding his head slightly at her answer. She brought it up to her lips letting the blunt hang out of her mouth slightly, smoke piling into her mouth. The earthy flavor settled on her tongue like a mint would. 

“Who are you,” she asked, rather unfriendly.

“Jameson.”

Her brows furrowed for a moment. 

“Jameson?”

He nods again, taking the joint back from her and savoring the flavor himself.

“Dumb name,” she laughs. 

“My parents are a bunch of alcoholics,” he says, coughing a bit. 

“Ah,” She chuckles. “That makes more sense now.” 

They stayed silent for a moment, both embracing the new unspoken friendship that they were developing. 

“Are you high,” Jameson says, softly. 

“Yes.” Amelia is staring at a bug in the damp grass, wiggling around. She’s so entranced by it. Everything about the tiny worm pulled her in, the way it moved or even its flesh-like color. Jameson laughs at her, poking fun at her cluelessness. 

“You are definitely high.” 

He bursts out in laughter, holding onto his tummy in comfort. She scowls at him. 

“And what about you,” she mocks. 

She raises a hand up to his face, sticking two fingers out. “Have you seen your eyes?”

Jameson stops laughing, his face dropping immediately. He pulls out his phone and, more importantly, his front-facing camera feature. She was right, his eyes were practically swollen and crescent shapes. 

“Shit,” he drags out, studying his eyes. 

“Shit indeed,” she giggles. “Looks like we’re both screwed.”

Amelia had reached out her smallest finger, poking the slimy worm underneath her. It wiggled and crashed against her finger, flipping out at the very touch of her skin to its. 

“Do you do this often,” Jameson asked. 

Jameson finished the joint, savoring the last of the stifling material. He swallowed the smoke, the gas touching the back of his throat and choking him up. He coughed the remaining stuff out, leaving Jameson to catch his breath. 

“What, smoke under the bleachers? Or smoke in general?”

“Either,” he says, rubbing his throat. 

Amelia thinks for a second. She didn’t know if she should lie about how often she does this. After all, most people are judgemental about weed in the first place, and she didn’t know if Jameson was an exception. 

“Every day, all day. If I can help it at least,” she says, crushing the joint underneath her foot. 

He nods, taking that in. He didn’t know too many stoners, not that there were many in the school in the first place. Most kids were strict and straight-edged. Most adults were that way too. Weed is a sin, at least that’s what the haters seem to think. 

“Are you always here around fifth period,” he asks. 

“You ask a lot of questions,” I groan. 

She turned her head to face him, and Jameson went slack-jawed. Unsure what to say in case he already offended the girl in front of him. He was staring at her in depth, looking deep into her eyes waiting for her next move. She gulped slightly, uncomfortable at his gaze. After all, she didn’t know him and didn’t want to. This was a one-time thing and she had to share her joint with him. 

“Look,” Amelia starts, getting up from the ground. “I’m gonna go back to lunch. You go wherever.”

Amelia didn’t wait for him to say anything, she just started to walk away. His words are unimportant to her at this very moment. As she ducked underneath the bleacher bench, she turned one final time to the boy sitting on the ground. 

“If anyone finds out about this, you’re dead.” 

Jameson didn’t find that threatening, but for her peace of mind, he just nodded his head writing her off. Watching her duck and run across the soccer field to the school across the street. He knew he was going to be back under these bleachers again.

[ann-hanover]

Still With You

For those of you who know me, I've got journals I write in all the time. Dating all the way back to when I was in grade school, and, spoiler alert, I'm way older now.

Within these journals are an abundance of stories and plotlines for future stories I may want to pursue. There is, however, another type of activity I bust out when I'm bored with college work. And, if you have a music appreciation, like myself, you should try this writing exercise too!

Basically, we take a song by any artist. The key to picking one out of your song is the way it makes you feel. It's very important to me that my music makes me feel like I'm in a movie. I can imagine exactly what's going on in this scene and the emotions that follow it. Once you find that song, you just begin writing what you see when you close your eyes.

That being said the first song I have written out is Still With You by Jeon Jungkook:

The story follows the aftermath of a tragic relationship that still persists in the form of a curse. While the relationship was, truthfully, toxic the male counterpart persists in keeping it stable. However, the female counterpart feels trapped and wants to be resolved by this man in her life. As the relationship began to dwindle, the man constructed a curse. Somehow, the man would die by his own hands, then somehow implement his soul into his girlfriend's living body. That way he can be with her forever and she can slowly go crazy.

That's all I have written down for this plot idea. I always wondered if this idea sounded too stupid, but I always thought it was disturbingly romantic. Could be fun to write about though, who knows?

[ann-hanover]

An Entry from the Big Book of Story Ideas: Pt 1

A few years ago I begged my mother to buy me a leather-cased notebook so I could write down all my thoughts. My thoughts weren't always easy to express so I made a series of story ideas all just a tad bit wacky. Here's one from the vault!

At the time I had a code name for the idea, which meant I had no idea what I wanted to name the story. And, while in this specific scenario, the code name doesn't exactly match up with the overarching view of the story, it does prove one thing. What my favorite girl group is at the current moment.

Anyway, sorry to keep you reading...

The code name is Red Velvet:

Upon the rise of popularity in shows like All of Us Are Dead and Sweet Home, I decided to throw my two cents into the apocalypse genre. The story follows a teenage girl who is doing her typical routine of walking home from a long day of high school. On her way home, she passes through a park with a shortcut she's always taken. As she walked further into the park she noticed someone...or rather something. Facing a tree was a tall, man. His head was tilted back and an odd bubbling noise scurried up the back of his throat. His back was arched in a painfully, forced way. The skin was practically absolved of any color or blood and many of his teeth were sharp and cracking from constant grinding. And just like the painfully, shattered teeth the nails are about the same too. At first, this monstrosity of a human doesn't notice our female lead staring at him in horror and confusion. The monster stared up at the tree, more like a squirrel just chilling in the tree. And, as she backs away we see her generate just enough noise for the beast to notice her presence. Before she could escape the beast toppled her over, sniffing her scent up. The concept of the beast is similar to a spreading disease. In a way, the disease this creature has can and will spread to more people. Once, one person had this strange illness that made them into a grotesque human and now everyone has it.

However, I did struggle when creating this concept. And, despite the work that inspired it, I wanted it to remain unique. This is why it only remains an idea in my notebook.

[ann-hanover]

Masterlist

Started: 5/4/2024

Short Stories:

The Gatherer and His Mysterious Ways

Fueling the Fire Part 1

Fueling the Fire Part 2

Jots From a Journal:

Red Velvet Concept

Song Title Plots:

Still With You

[ann-hanover]

The Gatherer and His Mysterious Ways

The air was crisp, a nice breeze grazing the skin of the Gatherer. A slight smile graced his face as the sun beamed down on his pale skin. It wasn’t often he collected heartfelt memories, he didn’t care for the wholesome feel to it. It made him miserable he didn’t have any of his own. Instead, he managed the bad memories that people wanted to forget.

Something pulled him here. When the letter landed on his desk this morning he couldn’t help but be intrigued. It was a plea from a twenty-five-year-old man, begging for the release of a terrible memory that replayed in his head constantly. The type of memory that kept him up at night and called him out of work in the morning. The Gatherer couldn’t help but be curious; after all, no one asks for a seemingly good memory to be taken away. 

Out of the corner of his eye, a man appeared. He looked at peace, leaning over a railing and gazing into the scenery before him. The railing was attached to a half-assed porch. The kinds fathers are determined to build by themselves cause they’re convinced it’s more efficient that way. But, it did just the job. Over the railing was a yard, in the distance right laid a brand new playset with swing and slides attached at every corner. On the other side was a beginner's garden with tomatoes and cucumbers scattered about. In the middle of the yard were three people. A woman with long black hair, a little boy about eight years old, and a baby girl getting carried by the woman. The memory was fresh and new, every detail was still fresh in his mind.

The Gatherer was not one to wait on his work. Instantly, he walked across the lawn and onto the creaky porch where the man had been watching from. He’d been doing this for years and managed to maintain a composed attitude when speaking to his clients which some other Gatherer’s couldn’t do. 

“Sir,” The Gatherer began. “I am the Gatherer you ordered?”

The man was caught off guard, not expecting to be caught at such a vulnerable time. For a second the man looked confused, but then relaxed his face into a pained expression. “Oh, yes. I didn’t expect you to arrive so soon.” 

“The note said it was urgent.”

“Well,” the man began, nervously rubbing his fingers together. “Yes it did, didn’t it.” 

The Gatherer flipped out a tiny, little, leather book. His official work log of all the clients he had a day was his official work log. Any bit of information the Gatherer can get they’ll write down in their book. Every page was dedicated to another person. 

“You’re name,” the Gatherer asked, clicking his pen. 

“Richard Wolfe.” 

The Gatherer opened the book, skimming all the pages until he landed on the next blank one. Carefully, he wrote the name in the book cherishing the man and his memory. 

“Birthday?” 

“March 9, 1998. I’m a Pisces, I think.” 

The Gatherer scoffed, “I didn’t need to know that.” 

“Oh,” the man chirped, red in the cheeks. “I don’t know how this stuff works. There’s not a class about you Gatherer’s.” 

Instead of responding, the Gatherer remained quiet. He found his work more pleasant if he tried not to make small talk with his clients.

“What’s the reason for evicting the memory?” 

There was a shift in the air after the question left his lips. The man went back to looking pained with a yearned look for the family beyond him. 

“It’s too painful,” he started, swallowing a lump in his throat. “I can’t keep reliving this.” 

The Gatherer raised a brow, confused as to how this memory was evil in any way. The Gatherer scanned the area, not noticing an obstruction that could ruin this day. It had seemed he and his family were having a wholesome family date in the backyard. 

“What’s too painful,” the Gatherer asked out of curiosity. “There’s nothing around to ruin your time.”

Richard shifted where he stood, he raised a hand to rub his temples to relieve a small headache itching its way on. To be honest, Richard didn’t know how to say it to himself let alone to admit it to someone, or something, he doesn’t know. Yet, he was tortured with the memory of what was lost to him. And what was lost was his family. 

“They’re dead,” he spat out harshly like a bandaid being ripped off. “A drunk driver struck them when they walked back to their car.”

Richard could still hear the phone call he got from the police department saying that his wife and children were dead. It was brutal, it took the life out of him within a second. Ever since then, his life has never been the same. 

“They were too young,” he started, a tear falling from his eye as he watched their memory. “We didn’t have enough time together.”

The Gatherer looked at Richard, taking his emotional state. For a second, the Gatherer’s heart broke for the man in front of him. There was agony in Richard’s eyes anyone could see that. He was plagued with guilt and remorse for his wife and children. Many nights he’d lay awake at night wondering if he’d gone with them maybe they’d still be there or if he’d stop them from going, cause he just wanted to spend time with his wife, maybe they would still be there. 

“I can’t live without them,” Richard said again, wiping his eyes. He couldn’t settle without them, they were his everything after all. “So, I need you to make me forget them.” 

“Forget them,” the Gatherer questioned. “Like from your mind completely? Every possible memory you could have of them gone?” 

Richard shook his head eagerly. He’d been craving that escape, after all. It was the only cure for him. Was there a reason for him to keep these memories that tore his heart apart? No matter how many times he revisited them, he just couldn’t overlook his depression. There wasn’t any part of him that wanted to remember his old life and who he was. 

“That’s erasing a whole part of your life,” the Gatherer calmly spoke. 

“That life is behind me,” he said. He struggled to get his words out. Something about dismissing his old life felt sacrilegious after all. “That isn’t my life anymore.” 

The Gatherer quirked his head at Richard, it was almost like he was having an internal fight with himself about deleting these memories forever. The Gatherer turned his gaze to the white-picket fence family on the lawn. The mother was holding onto the baby girl as her older brother fed her. She giggled every time her big brother would bring the spoon up to her mouth and make an O face at her. The mother just awed and gawked at her two young ones. It was a cute, core memory that the whole family shared due to the older brother’s carefulness when dealing with his baby sister. 

“I can not proceed if you’re conflicted,” the Gatherer started, shutting his tiny book and shoving it lamely into his pocket. 

“Conflicted,” Richard questioned. “I’ve already made up my mind. I told you that, what part didn’t you understand?” 

“Hm, do you take me as a fool, Mr. Wolfe?”

“A fool,” Ricard’s eyes lit up with fear “No, I would never.” He raised two hands in the air, flapping them back and forth as if that was easing the tension. 

“Then why do you lie?” 

Richard sighed again. He felt like he was going in loops with the service he hired. Weren’t Gatherer’s supposed to be non-judgmental, discreet, and the safe way to take away memories? Any ounce of research Richard did about them came up with the same conclusion. No one knows what they really are or where they even come from. Most of them don’t express basic emotions and overall lack them. It seems like Richard got quite the annoying Gatherer then. 

“Look man,” Richard started, leaning back on the porch rail again. “What are you talking about?”

“Your face says it all. You wear your emotions on your face.” 

“I don’t,” he argued back. 

“You do,” the Gatherer reputed. 

Before Richard could get out another “I don’t,” the Gatherer shot him a death stare. He wasn’t in the mood to go back and forth with a man who didn’t know what he wanted. Instead, Richard sighed. 

“So,” he started. “You’re not gonna take them away?” 

The Gatherer didn’t know what else to say to him. He’s never had such a difficult and moody customer before. Most of the time the people were too afraid to interact with him especially when he was asking them personal life questions. The Gatherer instead reached out his pale hand and extended it to Richard. Richard took a moment looking back and forth between the hand offered to him and the person offering it. It only took two minutes for Richard to take the Gatherer’s hand. 

An icy feeling overcame Richard's hand as he enveloped the Gatherer’s hand. The hand felt like it belonged to a corpse. It made Richard wonder for a moment if the Gatherer was a zombie or something, but before he pondered it more the Gatherer yanked his hand. Richard shifted to face his family and to stand directly standing side-by-side with his guest. 

“What are you-” 

“Shut up Richard and just look at them.” 

Richard shut his agape mouth, offended at the comment but choosing not to do anything about it. Not that he could do anything about it anyway. And as much as Richard didn’t want to he heard a high-pitched squeal. It was his daughter. More specifically, his daughter is being attacked by kisses and hugs from the brother and mother as if there was good news. Richard smiled fondly to himself as the memory played out. It was almost yesterday he remembered his wife setting up this tiny, backyard picnic. At the time, he couldn’t figure out why. Was there an anniversary that he had missed, or maybe a birthday? He couldn’t figure it out, but when his wife pulled out a positive pregnancy test he felt overjoyed.

Now, here Richard is again tears running down his face as he watches the moment his wife announced to him and two other kids that she was expecting again. Even if he wasn’t there in the moment he still vividly remembers how he felt like on top of the world. Only for his world to be ripped apart just a week later after that. 

“Richard,” the Gatherer spoke up, pulling Richard away. “Memories aren’t a burden, they are here to preserve a moment in time. Don’t let your despair erase what once was the best part of your life. They can live forever in your memory if you let them.” 

“I don’t know what to say,” Richard choked out.

“You don’t need to say anything,” The Gatherer huffed.  “Now go talk to them and then go home Mr. Wolfe.” 

“Thank you,” Richard muttered out.

This may not have been what Richard wanted, but it’s what he needed. The Gatherer watched Richard walk up to his family awkwardly. From across the yard, his little boy perked up seeing his father. The little boy screamed “Daddy” as he ran into the arms of Richard. Richard embraced him, cherishing this memory and holding onto his son. After all, this was the only way to see him again. 

The Gatherer turned on his feet, unbothered by the scene in front of him. Still, he wanted to give the family some alone time before Richard had to go back home without them. The Gatherer walked to the edge of the yard, where he originally started, taking a final breath of the cool air. The Gatherer was going to miss this memory for sure.