100TC #8 - Memory

8th entry of the 100 Themes writing challenge. For my previous entry I have been doing mostly short stories. This one will be a bit different, it is more of a poetic text and is open to interpretation, I hope you enjoy :)

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- MEMORY -

Call of Mnemosyne

The sound of church bells...

I remember

I remember a church. I see a sea of people in ceremony garb. A king and a queen, and obviously nobility. They are crying. A coffin is being carried. People are mourning. Who died? Who is being mourned? Could it be me?

The scent of spring flowers...

I remember

A large garden, not from this time. Going farther than the eye can see. People watering the flowers, gardeners hard at work. A magnificent garden that is almost a work of art. I look at it from a balcony. Where am I? Is this a caslte? Could this be my house?

The sight of an old house...

I remember

I remember white stairs. All in white, hidden behind a hidden door. Windows bringing in a faint light in the secret staircase. The white stairs are going up. What could be on the upper floor?

The feel of the summer sun on my skin...

I remember

Warm sand under my bare feet. I am trapped in it, I cannot move. I am getting sucked in. In the distance I can admire magnificent buildings. I scream but no one can hear me. Is this how I died?

The taste of jasmine tea in the morning...

I remember

I remember a magnificent city, and a banquet full of exotic dishes, the scent of jasmine filling the air. Hundreds of guests attending, their heads turned towards me. Is this in my honour?

The sight of blood...

I remember

Someone having a heart attack. I hurry towards them, they need help. I get some tools and help them breathe. How do I have this talent?

The burning passion of sex...

I remember

I remember a handsome man, naked, enlaced with me. We are careful not to be seen. We cannot be seen together. He holds me tight in his arms. Is he my lover?

Only faint images, pictures flashing in my head like memories from a past I have never lived. Unless I have lived another life, or maybe more than one? I remember it, it is unclear, only fragments. But I remember it. These flashes are as real as any other memory. Yet what are memories, are they all real or only the product of our imagination? And what if imagination and memories were both the truth, what if they were one and the same? I know one thing for sure, I do not belong here. I remember where I truly belong and no fake memories will take that away from me.

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(C) Copyright 2014 Hope Alexander aka David Giroux for the text

Painting : Mnemosyne by Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1881)