The Limbic's Game

Chapter 7

Dylan Crammer

I didn’t know what to think after I had my first fully-fledged memory of the mystery girl. As hard as I tried; I could not visualise her face, or even begin to comprehend what she meant to me.

Soon after the first memory came, many more came thick or fast.

Most of them time they came in two varieties. One of these so called varieties was both very long and sluggish, seeming like they went on for hours with a huge amount of details. The events that took place were always frustratingly insignificant.

One instance of this would be the day I apparently crashed my Ferrari into anther rich student’s Porsche as I had pulled into the six oaks car lot. I had paid the money for the repairs as soon as I got to an ATM, giving the Porsche owner the next day.

I had a recollection of the whole day, but I never saw the girl once. This pissed me off so much: that I could remember a whole day, but it just so happened to be the day that I didn’t to see her.

The other type of memories that I experienced were at less regular intervals. Well, I wouldn’t really call them memories. I think that the more suitable term would be a glimpse.

These glimpses were the types of experiences that contained pivotal moments. These fleeting images always showed me the girl and moments in a place that I did not recognise

Gone were the smooth pavements and streets of the Bevs, replaced by the rocky tracks of a seemingly third world country filled with dust and shanty towns.

We were walking down a road hand in hand. The smell of fresh fruit sliced through the air and made its way straight into my nostrils. As we turned a corner, I saw that there was a vast array of colours. They could have come from straight from a painter’s palette.

As soon as we came around the corner to the first stall of a fruit market, filled with bright oranges. Then, all of a sudden, we were at the other end of the market.

We were sat on an ancient wooden bench. At this point she was sat on my knee; encircled in my arms.

My face was buried in her dark curls and I could not remove it to see her face.

The words ‘You’d really do that for me?’ swam around in my mind, echoing of the very walls and barriers that caged me in.

And I knew in that instant that this was the voice of the mystery girl that I knew meant so much to me.

Somehow.

A fast, streaming thought was exactly what it was. And there was no way that I could repeat it in my mind.

Meanwhile, my hearing had become less selective.

I was now able to listen to whole conversations without becoming exhausted and tumbling deeper into sleep. It was comforting to know that there was someone constantly at my bedside.

Even though I was alone in my mind; there was evidence that I was not alone in the world.

My parents were constantly busy with work, but as soon as news came of the accident and the life-changing conditions that came with it, they came straight home.

It seemed that they were now making up for lost time.

Guilt was now running through both of them. Work and the wage had always come before the quality of family life. They both knew that they were now in the older half of their lifespan and decided to make sure that their one and only child would be able to grow up comfortably if something were to happen to them.

It took their son to be in a coma for them to realise that they had gone wrong.

After masses of conversation, they came to the conclusion that they had not spent anywhere near as much quality time with their son as they should have done.

The various minders and sitters that looked after him when he was younger had witnessed all of the good things about bringing up a child: they weren’t even there when I spoke my first word.

I had once described his father’s appearance in a very on-the-mark fashion.

I said that you can describe my dad as a Richard Branson.

He looked like him, and also had a similar work ethic and ego. The one thing that was different however was: he didn’t have room in this intelligent ego for work AND home life.

To be totally honest: I don’t think I like this new found attention.

Again, I have found myself in a situation where I have attention that I don’t want.

Typical…

Maybe if there weren’t so many people around; I would be able to gather my thoughts together with much more ease.

If finding out what happens to me kills me, that’s what I’ll do. Besides, as far as I see it, I’m on borrowed time as it is…

It was then that I thought that I should ponder about my parents in equal proportion. I could hear her voice in real time and recognised her speech pattern. But no matter what I did, I couldn’t find anything related to this dialogue as I trawled through my database.

I couldn’t pull up memories of her tucking me into bed, or kissing me better when I grazed my knee whilst playing.

I went through my hard drive of knowledge multiple times before giving up.

Not the colour of her eyes.

Not her favourite music.

Not her appearance.

It had hit me. If I couldn’t remember a single thing about my mother; what other important things hadn’t bothered to show up to the party?

I was no longer hovering and floating with content, but I was falling with the force of an impossible gravity.

How disadvantaged I was in the fight for my life. There was only one thing for it.

Grit your teeth and bare it.