Imagine this:
Imagine it is around six o'clock in the morning in Southern California. You're in a small diner in the farthest outskirts of Los Angeles. There are around half a dozen people in the diner, half of which are employees. It's relatively calm and peaceful for a long time, the few patrons in the place taking their time to sip their coffees before they must ultimately go out and return to the world, likely never finding all of them in the same place at the same time ever again.
And then the peace is shattered by three police officers dragging in a group of young people, shockingly out of place here. You watch as they are pulled into two of the booths by the officers. The uniformed women and man speak to one of the waiters, and within seconds the people that were dragged in are being handed mugs of steaming coffee.
You look at the people in the booths. Mostly boys, one girl. They're all in their early twenties, you would guess. The group is completely out of place in the dusty small town. They are all wearing strange clothes that had probably at one time been very expensive and well-crafted, but are now completely destroyed. The clothes are ripped, dirty, and stained in what looks like blood here and there. The appearance of the wearers is almost the same. They all have traces of ruined makeup on their faces. The girl's eyelids are spotted with the remains of heavy eyeshadow and mascara. They have spots of dirt and grime on their skin. One of the boys has a dirty cut that goes from his jawline to his nose. You notice that the girl, whose dress barely reaches her mid-thighs, has a rather large stain of dried blood on one of her legs. It doesn't look like she's injured, though.
They are nervous and trembling with something that looks like fear. One of the boys is leaning heavily on the boy next to him. Their eyes are wide and the mugs in their hands are shaking. You wonder if they should be intaking caffeine when it looks like they are three seconds and a loud noise away from breaking the ceramic, if their white-knuckled grips have anything to say about it. Some of the keep glancing out of the glass windows. The desert sun is slowly rising, but not enough that they could see anything of consequence. One of the police officers is speaking to them as a group, but only a few of them seem to pay attention at random intervals. The other two officers are patrolling back and forth in front of the tables, as if they're protecting the young adults from something or someone.
The girl turns to one of the officers. "Can I have my phone now?" she asks urgently. "I really think I should call my parents."
The policewoman gives her a sympathetic smile. "I'm sorry, but it's still considered evidence. I promise, your parents have been notified and are on their way. They'll meet us at the precinct."
The girl purses her lips and looks back at her coffee, but doesn't relax in the slightest. The boy next to her nudges her arm with his. She nods to him when he looks at her sadly. Neither of them says anything.
One of the boys isn't clutching his coffee cup with both hands, you notice. He has one of his hands pressed against his side like it's causing him pain. As you're staring at him, wondering what he is doing, you notice another small movement across the table from him. It's the girl. Her dress has a small pocket on the side, you realize, and every once in a while she looks around to make sure the others aren't watching before she reaches a few fingers into the pocket and pulls them back out quickly. She does this a few times before she suddenly looks directly at you, her eyes cold. You drop your eyes immediately, hoping she doesn't realize you were staring.
Imagine you are in this scene. What do you do? Do you wonder if perhaps you should leave the diner quickly, as something very dangerous might be happening? Do you think that perhaps the girl has a very small gun in her pocket that she doesn't want the police officers to know that she has? Do you finish your coffee, fold up your newspaper, and go about your normal life?
Do you wonder what on Earth happened to that group of young adults that could have ended them up in such a predicament: their expensive clothes tattered, their faces etched in fear, their belongings confiscated as police evidence, their skin dirty and covered in blood as they are huddled together in a Southern California diner at six in the morning. If you do wonder these things, then you are in luck.
Because something very awful did happen to that group. If you ask them individually about what happened, they might give you different answers. Some of them might ignore you, some of them will tell you that they 'don't really remember' in detail what happened. If you are told this, then you can be assured that you are being told a lie. Because they all very clearly remember exactly what happened. They will always very clearly remember what happened, until the day they die. They will never forget. Amnesia doesn't let you forget.
YOU ARE READING
Amnesia
Fanfiction"I've always been curious about that. When you're on stage in front of thousands of people that adore you, do you ever look at those people and wonder? Wonder about who they are? Do you think about their names, their ages? What their place is in the...
