When the Rain Stops and the Strawberries Rot.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
When she doesn't return, a bowl of strawberries lays rotting. Angst.

Submitted: May 28, 2008

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Submitted: May 28, 2008



When the Rain Stops and the Strawberries Rot.


I feel the rain on my face; I open my mouth and let tiny drops fall onto my tongue. I feel the droplets gently pound against my cheeks, like the tiny fluttering of wings. I look over, hoping to find her doing the same. She isn’t.

It breaks my heart, because she used to love this, the taste of water and the cool breeze.

Now she stares at it like she is wondering what exactly we are supposed to be doing out here.

“You open your mouth, and stick out your tongue like this so it can--” I begin to instruct her, hoping that if she tries it she’ll remember that she likes it.

“I know how.” She says, but there is some lack of satisfaction there, a sound of misery. She doesn’t want to be out here. I should let her inside now, I know, but, I just can’t

“May I go inside now?” She asks.
“No.” I answer, quickly, so I won’t have anytime to think.

“Is this really important to you?” She says, although I wonder if it really matters to her if it matters to me.

“Yes.” Because it is important. I have to know she can remember something she used to like, I have to know she can regain what she’s lost, I have to know that she can come back!

Because if I don’t I’ll fall apart.
She sighed. “I don’t even know you.”

With those words she sends a piercing pain through my heart, and I’m wanting to collapse into tears. I think she realizes that all the water running down my face isn’t the rain.

“I…I am sorry. What was your name again?”

I feel the biting pain again, and I’m forced to crouch down and hold my legs to my chest.

“You can go now.”

“But if it’s really important to you…”

“Just leave.” I said, quietly. There was no trace of anger in my voice, no hate, no fury. Only despair.

She leaves. No final word, no move to speak, not even an attempt to protest.

She really has changed.

It breaks my heart knowing. I see her everyday, I introduce her to her old friends, take her to the restaurants she used to like. I try everything in my power to make her remember something, anything about her old life. I know that that’s the wall blocking her from coming back, if only she could remember one thing, I am sure that that would cause her to tear down the wall to the rest of her memories.

And the real killer is that sometimes I can see it on her face--that she wants to remember. That she wants to have it all back. And I can tell by the strained look on her face that she’s almost there. There’s something nagging at the back of her mind, and she can’t quite put her finger on it, but if only she could reach a little farther

And there is nothing I can do. I can’t push her that extra mile, no matter how hard I try. I can’t show her the way to reach, no matter how much light I give her. I want to do something so much that I can’t bear it.


And it’s not fair because all I want is to hold the woman I love in my arms again, to feel her warm skin against mine and hear her laugh like the ringing of bells. That is all I want! Is it really so much to ask?

It’s not fair.

It was so dark that night and she was scared, I could hear her crying and begging my name but I couldn’t come. She needed me, and they wouldn’t let me get to her. I could have saved her. I know I could. We could be sitting here, laughing or kissing or even weeping, so long as I could cradle her in my arms on final time.

But they wouldn’t let me go.

I can still remember afterward, at the hospital. Every word the doctor said to me. Every word.


The doctor is there, standing next to her still form, still unconscious asleep from her accident.

He speaks. “Oh, you’re--”

I nod. “How is she.”

He frowns, biting his lip when he responds. “She’s…not good. When she wakes up, her memory will be completely erased. She’ll never be able to remember what happened to her before the accident. I am…so sorry.”

I can feel tears running down my face as my world falls apart around my head.

“I’m sorry. She may never even wake up at all.”

And then when the world seemed to be able to get no darker, she opened her eyes.

I was flying, ecstatic, at the top of the world because here she is looking at me!

I cry her name out, laughing and crying because they were WRONG! Here she is, she knows me, she remembers me!

And then her beautiful voice rings out giving me more hope than I had ever had before.

“I’m sorry. Who are you?”

And my world gets plunged into pain and agony.

It’s so black that there is nothing that can ever pull me out.


When I go back inside after it stops raining, she is gone. I feel miserable.

And the reality finally sinks in, that she is never going to come back.

I feel like I have nothing to live for anymore.

And so I walk into my bathroom, turn the water in the sink on high, and close the door.


When I went to the hospital that night, when her accident threw both our lives out of place, they told me what had happened. What had happened to her mind.

I didn’t want to hear it.

They said that, if she ever even did wake up, she would never remember. Never. Nothing. Nothing at all. She wouldn’t know the name of her mother, the way her brother looked, the sound of her father’s voice. She won’t remember me, or the sound of a gurgling stream, the feeling of rain or the sound of laughter, the breeze on a cool night and the way fireflies light up summer skies, or the way that she had first seen the cherry blossoms bloom and the taste of strawberries. She would never remember it.

She was dead. Forever. And in no way could she ever remember what had made her so happy so long ago.


And in the minute minutes before the new girl awoke in her body, when I could not mourn for myself, I mourned for her and the feel of rain and the taste of strawberries.

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