Day 1:
Most people said, “You are so lucky she likes you.
You even get to have your own room
As the rest of us share the dorm.
Did you know that she only picks one girl for every four years to have that room.
You, are such a lucky freshman.”
And for some time, I believed them.

Day 7:
2 words changed everything
Lights Out.

On that, and almost every other night after that,
The matron would come into my room
To tell me, the bedtime story.
Yes! It was the same one every night
She would say,
“Darling, don’t worry,
Dreams and nightmares are the same thing
Both just memories,
Never forget that.”
These words would be followed by the covering of my mouth with a red piece of clothe,
“Comforting touches”
And then, story illustrations.

As time went by,
She always seemed to find creative ways
To recreate this story
Sometimes less words, more actions.
Sometimes no words, just actions
Using fingers, lips, tongue, pens, backs of knives, nail polish bottles and anything she could get her hands on
As literary tools.

Sometimes she would use just one,
Other times, two simultaneously
And the story would be illustrated
Over and over and over again
Veins popping out of my face and neck, from pain
Holding on tight to the railings of my bed,
Hoping that it would all be over soon
But you see,
A story only ends once the author is satisfied
And once she was satisfied,
She would take back her red piece of clothe from my mouth
And before leaving, she would repeat,
“Darling, don’t worry,
Dreams and nightmares are the same thing,
Both just memories,
Never forget that.”

On most nights after she left,
I would hold my knees to my chest
Rocking back and forth
Repeating to myself,
“Dreams and nightmares= same thing
Dreams and nightmares= same thing”
Hoping it would comfort me,
Or atleast keep the thoughts out of my mind.

The mornings that followed
I would struggle to walk normally
Ignoring the pain and shame
Or atleast trying to

And at the end of each day
I would dread, going back to that room.
I knew no one would understand
Because such things ordinarily don’t happen in high-school
But I’m not sure what is ordinary or not,
So I convinced my classmates that I was afraid of the dark
And even asked if I could spend the night in their dorms.
Many mocked and said that the monsters under my bed wouldn’t come alive,
Not knowing that my monster is alive,
And tonight, she would be on top of me.

Others said that I should stop being ungrateful
Repeating,” You are really lucky she likes you,
Did you know that she only picks 1 girl for every 4 years
To have that room…”

Earlier tonight,
She came into my room and all she said was,
“Darling, it’s time to make memories.”

It is night 419 of 1460
And all that is going through my mind are memories.
Memories of stories illustrated.
Stories, I’d rather never have seen
Her words tonight echoing in my mind,
“Darling, it is time to make memories,
It is time, to make memories.”

I hope now, you will understand
When you are called upon tomorrow morning
To clean out this dead girl’s room
My great urge, infact, need
To be just, but a memory.

By: Becky Wairimu


2 thoughts on “Memories

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