Excerpt from Red Memories

You wake up to a shattered windshield. It’s the first thing you notice, and then as your eyes begin to focus you see what’s beyond it. There’s a road with tall, vibrant red grass on either side of it. The car you’re in is in the grass, not too far from the road. You look up through your cracked sunroof and see that the sky is completely dark. You assume that it’s nighttime, but then realize there are no stars or moon. The only light comes from unnaturally tall lamposts, so high that you can barely see the ends of them. They dot the road inconsistently, glowing a faint sickly red in the darkness. You think that you should be distressed by this, but instead you feel nothing at all. Maybe that’s what it’s supposed to be like.

All the windows of the car you’re sitting in are cracked, and the hood looks like an accordion. You look at your hands, which have cuts on the palms, and see scabs on your knees, although they don’t look fresh. You put a hand up to your head and it comes away with a dusting of something crusty and brownish. How did you crash your car? There’s no large objects nearby that you could hit into. You think that maybe you hit one of the lampposts, but no, none of them are close enough. So what happened?

There are so many questions that you’re unable to answer.

Is this even your car, or is it someone else’s? Where are you? Is this a road that you recognize, is there a town nearby? Is grass supposed to be that color? Is the sky supposed to be like that? Why are the lampposts that tall? What’s your name? How old are you? Where do you live?

You can’t remember.

Why?

It’s only then that you begin to feel something, only then that the numbness begins to wear off. First it’s the pain in your hands, knees, and head, then the cool air seeping through the cracks in the windows, and finally the terrible knot of fear in your stomach. You think you might throw up. Why can’t you remember? Who are you? Who? Are. You? Think, think! No, it’s okay, calm down, you’re dreaming. You must be dreaming. It’s the only explanation for this madness, for why you don’t know what’s going on and why everything is so strange. You start to cry, and in desperation you pinch yourself, thinking that surely it will wake you up. But you feel the pinch, and it hurts, and you’ve been awake this whole time. You’re not dreaming.