Never Forgotten

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
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Submitted: January 17, 2014

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Submitted: January 17, 2014

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As soon as Elijah walks through the door, he sees her. His home is quite convoluted. Doors lead to different places, to which, those rooms have doors which lead to other places. The portrait of her face hangs on the wall facing the door. Every day Elijah sees it. It makes him happy, but in many ways it only leads to sadness, to the shake of his head in order to forget. 

The impulse to lean his head back and blow air out of his mouth rather quickly grows. It helps him. 

“Fuck.” He mutters.

Elijah tries ever so hard to ignore the photo of what was once his love, but it never leaves. He didn’t ever hang it on the wall. It just appeared after the day they split up. 

A square room of only white with a door to his left, right and to his back, Elijah walks quickly to the door on his left. Flicking through hundreds of keys, he glances up at the portrait again. Tears start to fall. Memories start to return. Memories of happiness. Memories of quite nights and movies. Passionately kissing and warm cuddling. 

The door to his left opens and he walks through it to find himself in his home office. Complete with finely finished wood, it almost looks like a library. An array of books up to the ceiling sit in shelves all around the room. No dust. Spotless. Elijah sits at his clean, empty desk. Pulls out a spotless, short round glass and a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label. He doesn’t even drink, but often wondered what it would be like. The curiosity gets the better of him. The refreshing and relaxing vibe the bottle gives off interests him. He pours the whiskey softly, shaking as he does it. He takes a sip and sits back in his chair scrunching his face. 

“It’s really not as good as it seems, isn’t that right S….”

Elijah looks up. Hatred begins to rage. He sees the portrait of her again on the back of the door. Up he gets from his chair, pushing it with such force that it hits the wooden shelf behind him, denting the finely shined curved shelf. Elijah walks towards the door from whence he came, nearing the portrait he shuts his eyes, opens it and runs towards the door in front of him. Again, flicking through keys, he struggles to find the correct key. His watery eyes blur his vision slightly. He finds the right key, enters the door to find himself in a tool shed. With spanners, axes, saws rather disorganised, he seeks out a pickaxe. God knows why, he’s always favoured the item. Since he was a boy, being able to gaze upon the inside of a rock seemed like heaven to him. 

Sharp and precise, a pickaxe is. A tool used to mine. To crack and chip away rock. Indeed, a useful tool. He takes the pickaxe, sees a shadow looming behind him. He. turns towards her. 

“Sam, you haunt me day and night. I can never stop thinking about you and I can’t take it anymore. Everything I do. Everything I see, hear, reminds me of you. I’ll never have you back and I don’t want you back. I don’t miss you, I miss the memories. You ruined me, but you made me into something stronger.

He grasps the pickaxe firmly. He wants to hit something, and he plans on hitting it hard. He points it at the ground like a see-saw and stares deeply into Sam’s eyes. 

"You’ve brought me to death.” With one blow strikes himself in the middle of his forehead. 

 

 

“And you say in this dream, you drove a pickaxe into your skull? Elijah what were your intentions? Why did you believe a pickaxe could help you forget her?” 

“I don’t know. It was a dream. A silly dream. She won’t leave me alone, Doctor.”

“You need your medication, Elijah. You mustn’t stop taking your anti-depressants unless I say so. Do you understand?”

Elijah says nothing.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes I understand.” Elijah says sarcastically. 

“You have to move on, Elijah. You’re killing yourself mentally. It’s been over a year since the break up. It’s time to move on with your life. Dreaming about driving a pickaxe into your head to try and ‘chip’ away the thoughts is not going to help”

“Are we done here?” Elijah stands.

“If you say so. Take your medication.”

 


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