Die in a Fire

The memory started to fade, the colors becoming less vivid and the sounds growing distant. 

I blinked and I was back in the storage house. I looked around, the place was still what it looked like before getting transported to another memory: It was filled with countless jars containing moments from my past.

I let out a heavy sigh as I returned the jar to the metallic shelf, the weight of the memory still in my thoughts.

My gaze wandered around the familiar but emotionally heavy place, even though I knew there was nothing new to discover here. It was as if I expected something to change, to find some solace in looking around.

Perhaps it was the depressive memory I had just witnessed that made me feel this way. 

It was a heavy reminder of the sadness that had colored the latter part of my childhood hazy. I reached out and touched one of the cloudy-colored jars on the shelf, tracing my hands against the smooth, glass surface.