Some memories are doors—and some doors are traps.
Valley's thoughts sank darker, her mind once vibrant before I arrived here.
I could tell she was the type of person who had a garden full of flowers like the one I had just seen, or maybe even a tropical forest blooming inside her mind.
Every day since I first met her, the ideas that would bounce off her like splintering bark. A new tree was blooming, taking root in the deeper picture, and spouting seeds in every aspect. I imagined sounds of tropical rain hitting the ground, or birds of many colors chirping and humming songs of hope and dreams of a fulfilling future.
Once she learned something new, you could tell it was ingrained in everything she did from then on.
Just the same as meeting a new person. She always thought meeting someone was always some sort of fate, that they had something to teach her, and she had to figure it out like a puzzle.
That's what I loved about her. Always so full of life.
I wonder what it was that she had to learn from me. Was it love? Or was it loss?
Or maybe it was how the world itself was darker than she could ever imagine.
My heart was suddenly filled with deep regret. How I treated her before. Kept her at a distance. She didn't deserve that. The darkness she learned from me.
Her face flashed then flashed in my mind.
If that is the case, I wish I had never met her at all.
Because now I'm here, ruining every inch of her mind with my presence.
Before and after my death.
And who knows what this other soul is doing to her.
It was like curtains drawn against the light, and I could only watch the garden of her mind wither away. Not being able to do anything.
I watched death take form like an apocalypse, decaying crops. famine. What happens when your vision of life dies?
The trees are no longer spreading their seeds.
Your growth is hindered, and you're stuck, unsure of what you need anymore.
I frowned at the possibility of my Valley dying with me. Dying because of me.
My quiet thought was interrupted by the loud, echoing sound of buzzing. I ducked just before getting hit. Trying to steady myself in the vibration of what felt like a threat. The lowness took my breath away with the swiftness of the wind. Like something collecting all the air in a jar.
I caught a glimpse of trandestinely bright wings flickering like the bulb was going out in this place, and we only had moments left of visibility.
I looked back to see what had just flown by me in this now desolate crackend wasteland. Black tree stumps that appeared to have been affected by disease.
Even the creatures here are infected with her thoughts.
"Love itself was a cult." I could hear the thought in her voice as the words embedded in one of the remaining giant bees carried her thought to the grave.
It bled red, dripping across the starless navy sky.
The stinger was missing, wobbling before crashing into the surface to its final breath.
Her voice sounded emotionless.
You can't think like that; love itself isn't selfish. Trying to hold onto someone is.
I wanted to tell her to keep going, water your life. Don't let it die like this.
If anything was a cult, it was the act of being soul-woven, Atropa and its ringleader, the weaver.
Don't think you can't ever love again. That's what's wrong with this whole system. Everyone thinks they have one perfect soulmate.
I hoped she heard me. I rarely try to impose my opinions on her—it risks bending her thoughts to mine, not out of agreement, but rather intrusion.
I promise Valley, while I'm here, I'll do my best to only water what's still here in your mind.
I will help you grow back into the fun-loving tropical forest girl I met.
I will help you find the strength to stay strong, for if you ever lose another love again, you will not lose your forest, but rather find a way to cope with the pain instead of letting it kill everything you ever built.
I closed my eyes and knelt to the hard terrain.
The ground shifted again beneath me, memory walls trembling. The smell of paint and distant roasted chicken filled my lungs.
When I opened my eyes, there was light again, only not from being outside. A bright light on the ceiling of a bedroom.
I forward, and another Valley stood before me.
And I knew part of what I said must have gotten through.
But man, she really lets her emotions take over. When she gets frightened, I find myself somewhere entirely different, as if her fear has moved me through the folds of her mind.
This Valley looked to be around eight years old.
She didn't know who this strange person was standing before her, only that she had been running around playing in someone else's home.
A home she seemed familiar with.
She was holding a doll with nicely brushed blonde hair, its scent reminiscent of warmed silicone.
It was one of those dolls that took care of itself.
The hair fed back into the base of its head, through a humming heat source, and returned perfectly straightened.
It didn't require much heat, as too much could cause the whole thing to catch fire.
One of Atropa's many prototypes throughout its two hundred-plus years of reign.
My sister wanted one, but Atropa products were never allowed.
For Valley to have one, Atropa must have kept a watch on her from the beginning. Those weren't easy to obtain.
And they are undoubtedly still watching her.
She began shaking in fear of me, so I felt forced to introduce myself before she would scream.
"I'm sorry, I am just a friend of your mom's. I accidentally walked into the wrong room. Go ahead and keep playing." I told her before walking away.
She clutched the doll tighter. "Wait, you knew my mom?" She asked with a crack in her voice.
I turned back around, shocked by the way she said knew. Stuttering as if they are already gone.
"What do you mean by knew? Where's your mom at now, Valley?" Afraid of her reply. I turned away, not being able to look her in the eyes.
"My mom and dad are in a better place. That's what my new foster parents told me." She said, holding back the ache she almost let slip.
Even young Valley still tried to stay strong. But strength wasn't about composure; it was about letting it out and feeling it. This must have been the memory of her first heartbreak cover-up. Where the pattern all started.
"I.." I started to speak, but I couldn't bring myself to finish the sentence.
"They have been gone for a few years now. I miss my mom's stories so much. They could always put me to sleep, and I don't remember the last time I slept," she said, water forming in her eyes.
That's when it dawned on me, Valley never told me how young she was when she had lost her parents. And like a jerk, I'm here reminding this version of her about them.
But maybe she needed to be reminded.
To remember them.
The start of finding herself again, here and out there.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't know they were already gone."
I kneeled, "I know you miss them so much, but they are always with you, in here, their stories too." I put a finger on her heart.
She didn't say anything, and I wasn't sure if she was doubting everything I had said.
I probably would if the roles were reversed—doubt the stranger's words, question their intentions, and guard the memory of my parents fiercely.
Especially since I just told her I was a friend of her moms in the present tense.
I heard voices coming from the hall, "I'm sorry, I have to go." I ran to a door opposite the voices and opened it.
It was a closet.
How do I keep finding myself in these situations? I looked around, but I didn't have much time to escape anywhere else, so I hid in it.
Two young boys entered the room, arguing about who would pretend to marry Valley in their game. One shouted, "Derrek, you always get to marry her, why can't I have a turn?"
They moved from the doorway, closer to Valley, as the floor creaked along the way.
"Because Allek, I'm older than you, and she will belong to me one day." He put his arm around her from what I could see through the crack in the door.
So this was Derrek and Allek on the petals I had seen before.
I wondered if she liked Allek?
Remembering his flower was taller and more alive than the rest.
I didn't see my name anywhere, but I suppose she hasn't forgotten me.
If that really was the garden of forgets.
She bottles up so much until it's just erased from her memory.
She turned her head, as if she didn't want to be there or with him.
"Why don't you let her choose?" the younger boy returned.
"She will choose me, isn't that right?" The one with his arm around her looked over at her, both waiting for an answer.
Suddenly, she said, "There is a man in the closet."