The trees sway and the rustle of leaves can be heard as Anton and I make our way to the carpark. Once again, we're holding hands and I'm wearing his sweater. Beatrice is already here, waiting for us.
"Hey, let's talk in my car." The car in question is a vintage automobile that's parked towards the end of the school parking lot. We head in and she turns on the ignition and the heater too. "So... when did you guys start getting your memories back?" "About two weeks ago. I started remembering religion first, then smart phones, computers and social media. It was really overwhelming." I tell her. She nods in understanding and tells me that she got her memories back just last week, like Anton. I ask her if she has any theories on what's going on. "I know one thing for sure, all of this is real. The world that used to be, the one we remember, that's the real world. Not the one we live in now."
"So, it's like we're in a parallel universe?" Anton asks.
"That could be it, but I don't know. None of this makes any sense. I hate it here, I want to go back to the world we used to know."
"Do you know anyone else who's been getting their memories back?" I ask Beatrice. "No. Both of you are the only people I know who remember all of this." She tells me. "I hate it so much here, we don't have anything anymore. I miss malls, movies, fashion, Instagram, books, all of it. I feel like I'm in a really bad dream that never ends. Even food is disgusting. Everything is so bland and tasteless." For the next twenty minutes Beatrice, Anton and I vent our frustration out to each other and for the first time in two weeks, I finally feel some sense of comfort, at least the three of us are in this together.
Beatrice ends up giving me a ride home. I head straight into the kitchen and grab an apple, starving from not having any lunch today. Mum is already home, she asks me how my day is and I tell her it was okay. I go to my room and change out of my clothes, still biting on the apple. I put on some shorts and a hoodie and make quick work of tying my hair up in a messy knot. Then I cozy up in bed and grab the journal and pen from my bedside table and start writing. I've been writing in a journal for as long as I can remember. It was one of the few things I picked up from my dad, before he died. Everything about it is just so therapeutic. It's like my safe space, I can write whatever I want without garnering any judgements. The sound of pen on paper soothes me as I recall everything that happened today in my diary.
I write and write until suddenly I recall another memory. After two weeks, I haven't gotten used to this feeling. This overwhelming sense of shock when a long lost memory comes back to my mind in smooth waves. But this time it's different. I see images in my head. An old abandoned building, a dimly lit hallway, two women, a large iron clad door. None of it is familiar to me. An auditorium, filled with masked people, leading to a raised podium at the centre of the room. On that podium is several people, gathered around a table that holds what looks like a steel sphere that emits a soft, silver glow. I watch as the people on the podium put their hands on the ball together and close their eyes. They look like they're struggling with something, though I don't understand what's happening at all. Two of those people are the same women I saw walking in the dark hallway. I watch as their faces contort in pain.
One of the two women starts to mutter something inaudible. She has long brown hair and olive skin. Beads of perspiration surround her face. I strain to make out what she's saying.
"...Nicole"
I stare in confusion. Why did she say my name? Then I see a male figure walk down the stairs, staring at the people touching the bizarre silver ball in awe and utter excitement. I can't make out his face but I squint my eyes as he continues walking towards the podium. This time I can no longer contain my shock. I scream and nearly fall out of bed, panting as if I've just ran a marathon. That man is my father.