I stretch slowly, listening to my bones crack into place. The sound used to worry me, used to make me feel like throwing up, like curling up into a little ball, but now it's just another association that can be ignored. People say that I'm like a completely different individual these days, and I believe them. My memories are all intact, but it feels like they belong to someone else. They're all like that up until a couple of weeks ago – well, it must be a few months by now.

Just before the school year started. That's where I woke up, I think. That's where I regained control, regained sanity. Damn shame, because it was just in time to hear all the petty malice and the schoolyard lies.

They seemed to think I was a druggie or something. I was always spaced out, they tell me, always kind of off-balance. I did okay as far as actual work went, which was a relief, since I would have had no idea how to catch up if I hadn't, but everything else sort of fell apart. Some people thought I was a whore or something, because they saw me going around with a some shady man with a hat, and then a boy with crazy hair, and then a pale-skinned brunette. I remember none of these people, and that worries me. Maybe I really was into drugs, and some guardian angel woke me up just before it was too late or something. All I really know is that I'm fixed now.

I'm perfectly aligned now. I'm a top student, as ever I was, and I'm stable. I've got friends, but insanely well-behaved ones. I'm athletic, and I swim for the school. I'm going out with Gary Price, and we're almost perfect together, since we're so busy with our commitments that nothing matters to us other than keeping up the appearance of being together. I've got a part time job, and things look good for me getting a scholarship to a really good college. I'm going to be able to leave Haggard.

I get out of bed. My feet are cold, so I shove them into my slippers. My hair is a mess, and straggling strands of it hang over my eyes. I ignore this, concentrating on getting to the bathroom for a nice, warm shower. My muscles ache, and I have no doubt that hot water will help with that. It will also make my hair more manageable, or so I hope.

I bathe, and I clean my teeth, and I get dressed again. I go and find myself breakfast, and I eat, staring at the wall. It's not a very interesting wall. Through this all, I can't shake off the strangest sensation. It's almost like I'm hollow, like I'm just a shell around nothingness. I've been feeling like this a lot lately. It's like some integral part of my life is missing. That's impossible, though. Nothing's changed, other than myself. Is this what it feels like to be craving drugs? Are these withdrawal symptoms? I wonder what drug it was I was addicted to.

I finish my breakfast and I wash the plates and cup, placing them on a rack to dry. I assemble myself a lunchbox, and I sigh when I notice that we're out of cheese. I'll have to go to buy more after school.

School goes by quickly, and the feeling of emptiness stays with me. Nevertheless, I get my work done, and put up a rather good front. I'm quite sure no-one thought that there was anything wrong with me, at least.

The supermarket isn't particularly crowded, though I'm not paying that much attention. I pick up the things I'm here for, and I walk towards the check-out, already calculating the cost and getting the money out.

"It's Stephanie." The words are soft, but I know they're from behind me. I turn, fixing a scowl onto my face. I am expecting to see a couple of my schoolmates, gossiping and generally being inane. Instead, I see a woman with a soft smile and a man who looks worried. I wonder who they are. Ah well. It doesn't matter.

"Whoever you're looking for, I'm not her. I'm not anyone."

The woman nods, surreptitiously hitting the man. "I told you it couldn't be, Geoffrey," she says to him.

He nods. "I apologize, Miss. Philomena and I will leave you alone."

"Good for you."

Rolling my eyes, I continue to the check-out. What crazy tourists we get around here.

I had thought I had recognized them, for a brief moment, but the moment is gone, and I know that I couldn't possibly have, and so I get on with life, feeling emptier than ever, still craving some drug that I don't even know exists.

A/N: The problem with giving up your memories for a normal life is that you can't remember why you wanted one.

~Mademise Morte, October 21, 2011.