Amnesia | By: Vincent Heath | | Category: Short Story - Other Bookmark and Share


            It was a crisp morning. A thin fog shrouds the world in an omnitions only felt in the early hours as the sun begins its long journey across the morning sky. I am lying on my back, staring into the heavens, when a knot starts to grow in my stomach. Something feels off.

I slowly sit up, pondering what it was, when it hits me. I can’t remember my name. Better yet, I can’t remember anything about myself-who I am, where I am, much less why I am sitting on the bank of a river pondering who I am. I know I must be suffering from amnesia because why else can’t I remember anything. Well that and I think the throbbing enlargement on my forehead might have something to do with it. I mean, I knew the color of the sky was blue, rivers always flow north to south, and even that I am holding a loaded gun in my hand. A GUN! I throw the firearm away from me and jumped back, afraid I might shoot myself. Luck for me, when it does go off, it is pointing towards the river and not me.

Gathering my wits, I pick up the gun and pull out its clip, discovering it is a 9 mm semi-automatic pistol with hollow tip ammunition. Unfortunately, this revelation only brings about more questions than it answers. Why do I have this gun, and how do I know so much about it.

            Standing up, I scan my surroundings for any clues to my current situation. I spot an old, red Ford off the dirt road that leads away from the river. Putting the pistol in the holster on my belt, I approach the truck with caution. I opened the passenger door and search the glove box looking for any kind of clue about who I am. According to the registration, the truck belongs to an Eric Thompson. I walk around to the driver’s side and get in. The keys are in the ignition, so I fire up the truck. I drive down the dirt road, hoping that it connects to civilization.

As I drive along, I wonder about Eric Thompson. Am I Eric Thompson, or do I know Eric Thompson and if I do, is he a friend or foe. These thoughts in mind, I turn onto an empty highway looking for road signs telling me how far the nearest town is. Gundon Town-2 miles. Gundon sounds familiar. Maybe it holds some answers.

I park the truck outside of town wanting to examine the contents of the truck before I meet anyone. The only noticeable feature is in the bed of the truck-a long, metal bar. The bump on my head starts throbbing causing me to collapse.

There is a woman. She is sitting next to me in the truck. She’s yelling at me. We turn down a dirt road. We stop by a river. I get out. I pull my gun on a man standing on the opposite bank. “Eric, stop!” She yells. I ignore her, focusing on my target. A metal pole appears out of nowhere. Darkness…

I wake up perplexed. The gun is mine, obviously. The truck is mine, which in turn makes me Eric Thompson. But who is the woman, and who is the man I wanted to kill. My blood starts boiling with a strange yet familiar anger. I open the glove compartment, again. Finding my address on the insurance, I climb into the driver’s seat and head into town.

Finding my house is easy enough; however, when I pull up I notice a blue Mustang is occupying my driveway. I park my truck across the street and wait for anyone to come out of the house. I look at the clock on my radio. 11:46 p.m. Still early. As I wait, I clean my gun with the rag I found within the glove box. I’m staring at the car parked in my driveway when the throbbing starts. I lay the gun to the side, hoping to prevent an accident while I’m out.

I’m at a wedding. My wedding. Happy people are surrounding me and the woman as we eat wedding cake from each other’s forks. I’m holding her hand as we sign the house deed. She’s hugging me as I present her new car to her. A blue Mustang. We’re buying a semi-automatic pistol to keep for protection. We’re arguing about our money problems. We are sitting in the doctor’s office. The doctor is telling us she can’t have children. She’s crying in my arms. She’s lying awake at night. Silently crying. She’s drinking beer. She takes up smoking. I’m telling her that she’s destroying her body. We’re arguing, again. I uncover an affair. We’re driving down a dirt road. Darkness…

I slowly open my eyes. Tears cloud my vision. What have I done? I lift my head from the steering wheel and glance over at the clock. 6:32. I’ve been out for nearly seven hours.

I get out of the truck and walk to our front door. I knock. Minutes pass. I knock again but louder. Still no answer. Trying the door, I find it unlocked. Going inside, I find myself in our living room. The room looks the same, except for the overturned coffee table and the broken lamp stand. I rush up the stairs and find the bedroom door ajar. Rushing in, I am met with a dreadful sight.

There lies, Diana Thompson, my beloved wife, lying on the floor surrounded by a pool of blood. My head begins to throb again. I slide down the wall next to the door and close my tearful eyes.

“How could you do this? How could you just throw away all we have ever worked for!?”

“Eric, I love you. I’m sorry.”

“What could Bob possibly have that could convince you to betray our love!?”                          

“I need to get away, Eric. I need to leave this place. There is too much sorrow and pain here-“

“But there’s also happiness! We were happy at one time!”

“I’m sorry.”

She turns and leaves. I follow a minute later grabbing the gun on the way out. I pick her up and put her in the truck. I start the truck and start driving to their “secret” rendezvous.

I wake up to sirens. If the police find me here, I won’t be able to complete my mission. I run downstairs and out the back. Bob Smith. My old friend and long time neighbor. Now my enemy. I jump the fence separating our lawns and kick in his back door. His truck is the driveway, so I know he’s home. I pull my gun and search his house. The first floor is clear, so I begin to climb the stairway. As I reach the top, I hear the front door being kicked in, so the police must have seen me traversing the yards. I run down the hallway to his bedroom and throw open the door. He’s standing over a half-packed suitcase. a passport and plane ticket sitting next to it. I grab him and shove him up against the wall. I thrust the barrel of the gun to his head.

“Drop the gun! This is your only warning!” I hear a man shout behind me, obviously the law. They wouldn’t serve justice to this pitiful excuse for a man.

“See you in hell you damned bastard!” I squeeze the trigger. I hear two gun shots. Darkness…



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