The Time Left

Chapter 1

The day started with a memory, a faint memory with little feeling in it, a memory of the valley where I grew up, but I can't quite see the beauty I remember anymore. I used to see the bright blues in the wildflowers, I used to smell the pies cooling on the window sill, I used to hear the laughing of my brother, I used to taste the honey suckles in our garden, but I don't any more. I don't see the blue wildflowers, I don't smell the pies cooling on the window sill, I don't hear the laughing of my brother, I don't taste the honey suckles in our garden, and I know I never will. I would give anything to be back there, instead of where I am now. However I'm left only with my memories, and if I think hard enough I can still remember the touch of my mothers hand caressing my face. It saddens me to think soon I won't remember these things, but that's been my experience these past six months, I just know to go to the doctors on Thursday and my family comes on Saturday. I hope they come soon, It's been awhile since they came, maybe a couple days. I used to have freedom, but I can't validate that, only in my memories can I validate that, here I am chained up in this mental cage placed around me where I am left to roam what's left of my memories.

I remember both good and bad things, the good from my childhood, which is rather simplistic, and happy, and the bad from adolescence, which was complex and painful, but whose at that time wasn't? In childhood I had twelve siblings on a small ranch house, I shared a bed with my three sisters and in the winter my family slept in one room together to save our bodies from the harsh cold. Our garden was full of the most beautiful vegetables and fruits, and when I was four my parents put in an apple tree and each winter we would harvest the most delicious apples ever. When I was nine, we moved from Austria to Germany and life changed, though it was still good. At the time the Nazis were in power, and the ration books were installed. For weeks we could not get our hands on them and we lost my brother to starvation. He was a bright child, though he was rather rough around the edges. He was twelve at the time, and I can remember his face in great detail, his Roman nose, his bright green eyes and his voice telling me "Iche Libe Diche" and the way he cared about his family.

Two years later the allied forces sent spies to recruit from inside of Germany to get the secrets of their weapons and as I heard about this I got excited at a chance to help the just people of the world, and I was accepted. For the next five years I worked in the factory stealing secret blue prints of new tanks. It was an exciting life, though I felt I could do more, until the day I was caught. That day I found out just how much I was doing for the allied forces, that day at my hearing I remember asking myself why I did it, and then I realized. At that moment I punched my escort and was given a sentence with no trial. I was then sent to the work farm for a year, where I made many friends, but most of which didn't make it through. Six months later I was liberated from that farm and was given a ride to anywhere I wanted. My friend chose to go to a bar and I decided to follow, not really into the whole thing. I only wanted to know how my family was though I was most certain I knew the answer. At the bar I remember many foreigners trying to, I guess what you'd call "live it up." That was the night I met my husband, he and his friend were sitting there, a little buzzed, but his friend pointed over to me and he dared him to ask me out. We moved to the states after our honey moon a year ago and life again was good, but I don't remember much more. That's the problem with this disease the further back I'm pushed the more painful it gets, the memories were happy and to that they'll return eventually after the pain leaves. Until then I guess I'm just waiting.