The Persistence of Memory

Chapter One

A vast infinite blue, not a cloud in sight. A light breeze ever so softly nipped at his skin.

Absolutely Breathtaking.

"Yoo-hoo! Cessair!!" Joyce, his mother, called out to him from afar effectively snapping him out of his daydream. "Y'know, you're probably gonna get sick if ya' sit outside in the cold all day." She playfully reprimanded him, her heavy southern accent prominent in her voice.

"Come on in. The pumpkin pie's almost done."

The quaint farmhouse was lush with plants and greenery of all kinds. Almost every flower, bush and herb that you could possibly think of had been planted around the house; leaving the orchard at the very base of the hill. Peach colored roses crept up the wall accompanying the green moss that had almost enveloped the entire house akin to that of a mother's embrace.

This was Cessair's sanctuary, a paradise where he could truly be happy, everything was perfect but there was something clogging up his heart, the persistence of his memory plagued him even more so than usual. He shuffled into the small house dodging all of the herbs that overhung each doorway.

"The pie ought to be done in about 5 minutes or so, I'll call ya' when it's ready." Joyce happily sang taking off her bulky sunflower yellow oven mitts.

"Cessair are you... you alright?" She asked, her signature soft smile morphing into a look of motherly concern.

"Huh? Oh." He quickly wiped his tears away and sniffled quietly."Uh, yes I'm fine, I'm fine I guess I'm just a bit too excited for that world-class pie of yours... yum yum, ya know?" Cessair awkwardly replied running up the creaky stairs before he could further embarrass himself in front of his mom. He sat down on his bed and let the tears roll down his cheeks. 'What am I doing... the world is at my disposal I have everything, so what could I possibly be sad about?' He wasn't sad nor was he happy. In fact, he couldn't be bothered to feel anything at all, so he just sat there.

'Maybe I'm lonely?' He thought to himself. After all, It was a possibility, he hadn't had any contact with kids his own age in a long, long time, but Cessair preferred to be alone so he quickly disregarded the idea. After all, he had his family to keep him company.

"Yes, he's in his room," he could hear his Joyce's muffled voice coming from downstairs in the kitchen without straining his ears to listen; thanks to the old, paper thin walls of the house.

"I think he knows, today... when he came back from weeding, he looked at me like he was the saddest boy on earth and he just he started to cry."

'Joke's on you I was crying before then.'

"I don't know how he could have found out."

'She couldn't possibly be talking about...'

Cessair was tossed about from orphanage to orphanage for most of his life. So he had become rather accustomed to rejection but it still and always will sting. Everything made sense to him now. Joyce had grown distant in the past weeks always wearing a guilty look on her face, Cessair could tell that there was something that was eating her up inside. He just refused to believe it.

As soon as he learned to, Cessair began to write in what he insisted was a journal (but it was obviously a diary.) The matrons at the orphanage encouraged this, cooing at him and saying he'd be a famous writer one day if he kept up the practice. Writing is a grand part of Cessair's life but he likes to go back and look at his humble beginnings when he's feeling down. He opened the small, leather-bound notebook and began to re-read some of his entries to drown out his current sorrows with sorrows of the past.



January 23, 1959

I just moved into my new parents' home today! They left and they told me that they will be out for a bit. They are going grocery shopping and are getting me a surprise!!! Margaret is super-duper nice she has pretty long black hair im almost as tall as her. William paints 'abstract art,' but to me, it just looks like a bunch of triangles and squares. They have a big house up in the city a really long ways away from the orphanage I was in before I wonder when they'll be back.

'I never got my surprise.'



William Green and his wife Margaret both passed away when they ran off the road by a drunk driver. They then struck a tree that instantly killed them both. Ever since that accident, Cessair had stayed with many foster families. However, in the span of a few days, every single one of them had for whatever reason sent him back.

'I get it though. No one wants to take care of a stupid sixteen-year-old. I wouldn't want to take care of me either.'

"Cessair come down to the kitchen for a bit! I gotta talk to ya!" Joyce yelled from across the tiny living space.

Cessair carefully made his way down the stairs and into the kitchen to sit with Joyce looking like the saddest boy in the world. "Cessair..." The horrible guilty look was back "I'm really not sure if you already know but, I-uh... I'm so sorry" tears began to well up in her eyes and her voice began to waver.

"I know that I have no right to cry in this situation I just I love you so much."

"I-I know it's cruel to adopt ya... when I can't even take care of ma' self but at the orphanage when ya looked up at me with ya big ol' eyes that were just so full of dread, I needed to getcha out of that cesspool of filth and sadness... when I heard all about the horrid things that had happened to ya I had to take action... I just wanted to save ya. But look at me now acting like a big baby and putting ya in even more pain." She said dejectedly, her tears fell onto the wooden table rhythmically. She cupped her face in her hands and sniffled lightly muffling her cries.

"I know that I'm the most selfish person on planet Earth to send ya back..." She said in a choked voice as she released her hands from her face and grasped Cessair's cold, porcelain, fingers.

The paradise that he had loved so much was being burned to the ground only leaving fire and anguish.

The country was nice. In fact, it was more than nice, the country was incredible, it went on and on and never stopped. Cessair never wanted to return to a cramped box with the drab colors of some nondescript orphanage in the city. The view from the house was incredible, not to mention the rolling hills, herds of sheep, and the sunsets - he'd miss it all. All Cessair wanted to do was curl up into a ball on his bed with his fuzzy blanket and continue reading the short stories he wrote as a child and fall asleep just like he used to.

Cessair may have acted like he was totally numb but on the inside, he was completely devastated. Joyce did everything in her power to aid him; she fed, clothed, and talked to him every day. She taught him how to garden, cook and, fend for himself.

He got up and gently pushed the fragile chair in. The comforting smell of pumpkin pie that wafted through the air seemed a completely misplaced when joined with the overly melancholic atmosphere. Cessair turned and began his trek up the creaky stairs that seemed almost twice as long. When he reached his room he sluggishly fit everything he had ever owned into his raggedy olive green backpack.

The endless cycle of being rejected and underestimated had not yet been broken.

 Chapter One End

A.N. Thank you so much for reading chapter one of The Persistence of Memory! It really means a lot to me! I will be uploading chapters regularly so, please look forward to chapter two. Feel free to leave any and all comments, I'd love to hear your feedback.

Love, Vee