~ Memoirs a la moi ~
A story by Imaginable
"To write one's memoirs is to speak ill of everybody except oneself" – Henri Philippe Pétain
Disclaimer: I don't own any ideas, places and most of the charactors. I own the plot and a few other odds and ends. The end. Now, please, go on, read the story…
Not many people can look you straight in the eye and say: 'I think that you're crazy' I've come to respect those who do, get your fears off your chest, it always seems to work for me, not that that excuses you for saying I'm nuts.
Chapter 1 – My Brother, My Sisters, Me
'The brevity of our life, the dullness of our senses, the torpor of our indifference, the futility of our occupation, suffer us to know but little: and that little is shaken and then torn from the mind by that traitor to learning, that hostile and faithless stepmother to memory, oblivion' – John of Salisbury in Prologue to the Policraticus
I've never really remembered. Not that I want to. I have a nice house, a nice brother, two nice sisters, a nice dog and two great parents. I live in a great place and I go to a great school, all in all, I have a pretty great life. I don't know my name, I'm not really sure I had one, well I must have had one, but I don't really remember it.
But I don't want to.
Me? What's a bit about me? Any particular traits I have? I dunno, not many I guess. I have black hair that never seems to be able to sit right, and, unfortunately enough, bright green eyes. Miara says I look mysterious, like a wizard or something, AS IF! Ha! Wizard? Not likely.
I have a dog, he's a black Labrador, goes by the name Peppy, I dunno which state of conscious I was in when I named him, but he doesn't seem to mind. I have a brother called Andy and two twin sisters called Miara and Camio. Then there's me, a regular irregularity.
I live in a nice house; it has two stories and my room is in the attic, so maybe three floors would be more appropriate. When I first arrived I stayed in the guest room, but now I'm staying forever, I've been put in the attic. I love it. It's wonderful in the attic; it has a huge window that means I can see for miles and miles. When I look out and it's raining I can see the Eiffel tower and I feel so, I dunno, I guess it sounds corny saying 'at peace with myself', but that's how I feel.
My sisters are rather odd, and I mean odd. They're obsessed with magic. I know it sounds odd, and I can assure you it is, but it's true. They have these sticks, and the wave them around sometimes, they're crazy. But I love them anyway.
Andy's much better; he doesn't have any sticks, neither do Xantha or Peter. Xantha is my mom; she's French through and through, although her English is really good. Peter is my dad, he's English, but he hasn't been to England since he was in his teens, and that would have been a long time ago.
I think that if I do find out who I was, I won't like it. It's a gut feeling, something that I just know. I don't bother to tell my family; they'd think I was mad. Unfortunately, I can't disagree. You see, I'm like my sisters too, obsessed with magic. I've never really had a stick, at least that I can remember, but all the same. I have these dreams; in them there are these amazing animals and people doing magic, it's all so clear. But then I wake up and slowly it fades, like all dreams do, I know it was about magic and magic creatures, but I can't remember it clearly.
Once I told Camio about it. She looked moderately interested and asked me to describe the animal. I did. It had been a cross between a horse and bird, it had a huge beak and I bet I could have ridden on it's back. When I was finished she nodded knowingly and looked at me with a glance I think was meant to find where the dream came from. I didn't tell her that someone with red eyes that looked like a snake had killed it. That was asking for trouble.
I've lived here for, oh, I don't know, around about a month. It's holidays at the moment, I know that both Camio and Miara go to a boarding school, but Andy and I just go to the school around the corner. Apparently Camio and Miara got in because they did some test or something. I think its called Beuxbaton, or something, they don't really talk about it much.
I stand up, I'm hungry. I think that it's around lunch time but I don't know, my watch stopped working yesterday and I haven't been bothered to fix it. Some things just seem so useless, I mean, it'll just get broken again won't it? I'll still have to fix it.
Camio says that I'm depressing and have no sense of humour. Miara just says that I'm a freak, in an affectionate sort of way, as if 'this is James, he's my freak' and Andy says that I really don't want to know his opinion. I've left it at that because Andy's right; I don't.
My life took a pretty weird turn about a month ago; something I'm sure I never felt would happen happened. I lost my memory. It isn't really very nice losing your memory, you see, there's this small thing of not remembering anything. No one knows why or how it happened; they just know that I can't remember a thing about my previous life.
When I woke up it was scary.
It was so white. Just so blank and clear. It was as if nothing else existed in the universe, as if there was nothing, just me and white, white walls. There was nothing. And I was bloody terrified.
I don't know why.
I don't even particularly care.
I just don't, ever, ever, ever, want to have to go into that room again. So, I've decided I don't ever want to lose my memory again. That's my new gaol in life. Eat well, stay out of jail, and don't lose my memory.
Camio told me I was mad. Miara just patted my on the head and I swear she muttered something like 'its ok little freak, don't worry' or maybe that was just me. Andy said that they were good goals and I thanked him. Andy and I are like brothers.
I have made myself lots of goals in the past month. But they all mainly come down to staying alive and not losing my memory. It's something I can do with relish. I may be depressing, but I'm not suicidal.
I come from England, so how I ended up unconscious in France is anyone's guess, but I did. When I first woke up I think they thought I was mentally unstable; while they talked to me in their rapid, completely non-understandable French, I just stared at them like a fish.
It took us a week to realise that I couldn't speak French. Well, it took them a week, I knew straight away.
"Peps! Down!" he grins as me. Stupid dog. He was a welcome gift from Peter to welcome me to the house and family. He's stupid but I love him anyway, it's hard not to, he's got puppy-eyes pinned down to perfection. He's also got mud on his paws.
"I don't think he wants to get down, James" Camio's right. He doesn't. I glare at her.
How can I describe Camio? She's a girl, she's a blond with green eyes and the most popular person in the neighbourhood. She has a million and one friends that come around everyday, I hate them all, except Demi. They never stop giggling, mostly at me. Camio says I should be happy to get the attention. I'm not, that's for sure.
"Mom said not to let him out you know, he's gone and got mud all through the house" I glare. There's nothing else to do, does she think I wanted him to ruin the house? Does she think I wanted to have to clean up after the stupid mutt. She grins back at me.
"Poor Jamsie!" I'm grinding my teeth. I know I shouldn't; it's bad for them. But I can't help it.
"Don't you have to be somewhere?" her grin widens. Peps has got down now, he's gone and abandoned me in favour of the rubbish bin in the kitchen.
"In fifteen. Harry's taking me to the movies" I can't help it; my eye brow rises all by itself. It wasn't me. Horatio Jerry is Camio's boyfriend, he's perfect for her; rich, popular, and almost as bad a gossiper as well. She has this annoying pet name for him that really, funnily enough, annoys me; I'll be walking down the corridor past her room and she'll be on the phone 'Oh, yes, Harry, I know'
"Couldn't you leave earlier, it wouldn't do to be late" she's loving it. Baiting me is one of her favourite activities; she loves it, I hate it, that's why she loves it, because I hate it. One good thing is that Harry doesn't go to her school. It makes me vindictively happy; I hate Harry. The feeling's mutual. Harry hates me.
"He's picking me up" my turn.
"What, in a car" she rolls her eyes at me.
"No, in a hang glider. Yes in a car you imbecile" I shrug. I'm grinning now, she's smiling too, but she'll never admit it. Camio's not a bad sort, but she sure isn't a saint either. There's a knock on the front door. Harry has arrived. I go for the door but Camio gets there before me.
"Harry!" Oh, what a surprise! She had no idea he'd be here. I look at my broken watch. He's early. As far as I can tell. I follow her to the door.
"Harry, what a surprise" he glares daggers at me. I don't quite know why he hates me as much as he does. Maybe I make him feel insecure, being so lose to his girlfriend and all, or maybe he's scared because I'm so much better than him. I certainly have a better girlfriend.
"James! How wonderful to see you again" oh god, do I sound like that when I speak to him? I must, I'm good at being sarcastic.
"Yes, we should see each other more often" he's gulped. He doesn't like the sound of that. He looks at his own watch. It's working. I'll have to fix mine.
"Well, James, it was nice catching up with you, but we'd better go or we'll miss the movie" I smile at him.
"Of course" he doesn't like me. I wonder why. Camio smiles sweetly up at me and waves that cute wave she has, wiggling her fingers at me in what I assume is meant to be a farewell gesture.
"Bye Jamsie! I'll see you later!" they leave and I slam the door.
It's confusing really. Camio acts as if I'm mostly beneath her notice when it's just us and the family, but in public, I'm her big brother. All boyfriends have to be approved of by moi, all boys wanting a date or even just to talk to her, approved by moi or you don't get nuffin. I'm her big, mean, protecting brother, even though I'm only a year older than her, or so she claims.
I snort.
Camio needs about as much protecting as a pride of lions. For those of you unsure that's approximately zero.
"Peppy! What are you doing!" it's not really a question. I can see what he's doing clear enough, I wish I couldn't though; it's a disturbing sight.
I don't know how I ended up with the singularly most stupid dog in the Northern Hemisphere, but I did, and he's sitting in front of me, a banana peel decorating his floppy ear and a rat trap stuck onto his nose. I'm tempted to leave him like that. But I don't. Not that he appreciates it or anything.
I send him to his dog house. He goes; tail between his legs looking like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. And god, I know it wouldn't.
He's a rascal is Peppy. He gets into trouble like it's going out of fashion, and in his case, it is. But he's a good dog.
I go into the kitchen; it's clean and sparkling white in the afternoon light. I shift uncomfortably. I don't like the colour white. There's only one thing to do. Make it unclean. I get to work.
By the time I'm done the kitchen is a mess and I'm no longer hungry. Peppy has redeemed himself and is slumped underneath my chair, sleeping off half of my meal.
Demeeter comes round. We watch TV and play cards. She goes home.
Demi is my girlfriend. She's the quiet one out of Camio's elite, but just as, if not more, popular than the laud ones. I adore her. I think she adores me. I hope so at least.
By the time Camio gets home it's pretty late and I'm dosing on the couch, peppy is lying on top of me. Stupid dog. She takes one look at me, sprawled across the lounge, and she pushes me off. I could learn hate her for that.
"Cammy!" she doesn't even deign me an answer, deciding on changing the channel on the TV instead.
"What were you dreaming about, James?" I stiffed before I even realise I'm doing it. She says it so casually it puts me off my guard. Cammy always knows. Always. But I never tell her. She'd think I'm madder than she already thought I was. I shake my head and she changes the channel again.
It's a nervous gesture she's got and it puts me on edge. She doesn't give a damn about what's on that damn screen; I can tell she's looking at me, probably trying to read my mind. I'm not interested. I get up to leave, but she interrupts me again.
"You're going to have to tell someone sometime, James" I look at her, surprised. Her gaze doesn't shift from the screen, mine doesn't move from her face.
"Not here, not now, not you" she snaps and I make a new goal in life; never be near Camio when she decides to snap. She stands up and comes towards me, TV forgotten. I whimper. I can't help it. Camio is scary when she's mad. And boy is she mad.
"Get over yourself James" my mind is giving me orders; 'step backwards' I do it.
"Just get over it! I know you have dreams. I know you wake up in the middle of the night screaming your little head off. I know that you can't remember your previous life. I know. But get over it. If you tell us what you see, we might be able to make some sense of it!" I'm thankful that we're alone. If Andy was here he'd be shaking his head at me, but mainly at Camio. If Miara was here then she'd tell us to shut up or ship out.
"There's nothing to tell, Camio" I get up.
I leave.
I specifically don't turn back, until I hear her next words.
"You speak names in your sleep James; you speak the names of people I actually know. But the thing is, you shouldn't know them. And the fact that you do only makes you more of an enigma" her voice is harsh and I find myself spinning around, desperate eyes searching her own.
"Who? Who am I?" I can hear my voice, and I'm surprised to claim it as my own. Do I really sound like that? Do I really sound so god damn desperate? I guess I do, I can see her eyes clouding with guilt. She knows and she's not going to tell me.
"Who?" my voice comes out as a howl. Peppy shifts and lets out an accompanying
growl. I ignore him. I can't tear my eyes from Camio's own.
"I only know the people that you know James" her eyes are challenging me. Who do I know? Who! I want to scream at her, I want to yell and yell and yell. I don't.
"Who?" she looks down.
"Cedric Diggory, Fleur Delacour, Sirius Black" I recoil. I don't even know why. Who are they? I don't know. I don't want to know. Something in the boys name is wrong. It's bad. I don't want to hear it, ever, I don't want to know who they are, ever. I do the only thing I know how to:
I run.
I said before I didn't want to know who I was.
I was wrong.
I'm as desperate as the best of 'em.
*~*
A/N: Please review. I need feedback for this, and a lot of other fics I'm working on at the moment, if I don't get it, I'll probably abandon the fic in hope of producing a better one. No matter how deluded I may become, I can tell you now; they don't get no better than this.
Imaginable ~^.^~