Reconstruction of Memory - Becca Snyder

We reached the room and crashed on the twin sized bed. Our clothes were ripped apart and there was dirt lining our faces. All I could think about was that bridge. I remember her telling us there wouldn’t be a problem. My head was buried in the pillows, the only thing I could imagine was the pulling, and the lights.

That night the town was lit up for festivities. This is where we were at first, lighting sparklers and giving life to the abandoned halls. Barbara told us of this day. This was the one day that there was light on this street. Other days were overshadowed with broken street lamps and empty buildings. Barbara looked up to the dark mountain, pointed, and said that was our goal. So we followed, not knowing where or when we’d be back, or if the light would persist. This uncertainty was frightening. The road we walked on was winding and losing its way. A light was on. It revealed a towering spiral staircase. We weren’t to step on it, once someone steps on it, it buries into the ground with its crumbling rust. The other side was steep and daunting. So we went up, holding on to the stone of the Neretva water treatment plant, hoping the moisture wouldn’t result in a long fall. My hands were trembling with this fear, Barbara said it would be okay, but the trembling wouldn’t stop. There were screams from above telling us to continue, screams we couldn’t recognize, so we went up until there was a cage, hoping to ignore the loud noises surrounding us. The cage was in the shape of a cube with rusting green paint giving it color. The darkness didn’t reveal any inhabitants, and no noise that would hint to these screams. So it was safe to climb over, holding on to the small openings it gave, furthering our exploration closer to the screams. Again, we went higher until we could see the other side of the bridge. Barbara looked at me, “That’s where we’re going.” Her finger directed us to the other side, with large square gaps in the center. There were letters all over it, in different colors and sizes. I guess it was the words of those who were there before us, warning of the trek. The screams seemed to be of the same genre. Warnings. Warnings Barbara wouldn’t take. She swore it was still safe. None were in our language, so none proved useful. Looking to the forest there was darkness, looking to the town there was a circle of fire, glowing. I wished we went back, when the light was still there. The holes were big and under them was a heavy stream of water coming from the treatment center. Splashes rose like there was life under, some world we were interfering with. Our legs fell over the ledges and felt the nips from the waves pushing them different ways. Our legs crashed into each other. Our legs felt the movement of the monster. Our legs were the ones who knew.

I felt a grab pull me under the stream, it grabbed on to Barbara too. We were under, looking for oxygen to give us life. What was pulling us under? Our limbs crashed into eachother as our clothes were being shredded and faces brushed the mud below. We kept going and going down the stream. How long were we under? I don’t know. There was light on the other side, I could see it, but my focus was on breathing. In and out. In and out. My face peaked the water, I saw the light. Barbara pulled me out of the water all at once. My eyes went black.

That was all I remember. I wish I remembered more, how my clothes got shredded, who was the monster doing that? Now I’m safe. I’m on the twin bed. I’m safe.