Concious

A woman finds herself in a dark room, and begins to uncover deeply buried memories.

Short story. Based on the poem 'confession' by janice windle. I orginally wrote this for an english essay.

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10. Truth

Dozens of faces twisted towards them as they entered the room. It felt like the white dress memory now, but there was no music, no flowers, no smiles; only scowls, whispers and tension hanging thickly in the air.

 

She sat down on a wooden  bench in front of a man, her head swimming in confusion. The man was several feet above her, and wore enormous red robes, grey curls and held a brown hammer in his wrinkled fist. He brought down the hammer with a loud thud, and the buzzing of voices stopped.

 

“Ms. Anderson is present in court today, on the charge of murder.”

 

Her stomach flipped and her heart raced. Was that her name? Was that her crime? Who had been murdered?

 

“Her 4 month old child was found in her home, after neighbours heard screams. The child was found dead and Ms. Anderson was discovered minutes later in a locked bathroom after what appeared to be a suicide attempt.”

 

This couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be her. She couldn’t have done it. That can’t have been her child. Other words were yelled by a number of people, including the tall woman but all she could hear was the thumping of her heart in her ears.

 

The words “post-natal depression”, “deluded” and “manslaughter” were thrown across the room until there was silence. All eyes were on her. Standing on a podium, her legs shaking and her face wet with tears.

 

“Ms. Anderson? Do you confess to these crimes? What do you plead?”

 

“Guilty.”

 

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