The House at the Edge

As my father continues to try to convince me that my memories are hallucinations, I can see the desperation and concern in his eyes.

He seems almost afraid of what could happen if I were to fully embrace these "false" memories.

"Please," he repeats, his voice growing more urgent.

"You need to let go of these fantasies. They're not real. They're not your past."

Your father's voice grows even more pleading, his tone bordering on desperation.

"You have to listen to me," he implores.

"You need to understand that these memories are just they didn't happen"

As my father continues to try to convince me that my memories are false, I am filled with a sense of stubbornness and defiance. Despite his insistence that my experiences are mere fabrications....

"I know that they are real. I AM SURE!" 

I thought with determination and certainty.

Despite my father's certainty, I choose not to tell him that I still believe my memories to be true. Instead, I remain silent, refusing to give in to his insistence that they are figment of my imagination.

I speak up, my voice calm and resigned.

"I understand," I say, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I understand what you're saying, Dad. 

"I unders- I understand that you are saying they're not real."

My father's expression softens slightly, and he lets out a sigh.

"Thank you for understanding," he says, his voice calmer now.

 "I know it's not easy to hear me saying things like that, but I'm just trying to help you. My only concern is for your well-being, you know that, don't you?"

My father looks at me closely, his eyes soft and concerned.

"I just want you to be careful," he says.

"These memories you're having, these feelings you're experiencing... they can lead you down a dangerous path. You have to be careful not to let them consume you."

I shake my head, feeling a pang of bitterness mixed with betrayal.

"I can't trust him!" This is the thought that keep repeating inside my head.

The urge to escape the situation and the uncertainty of my identity becomes overwhelming.

"I just need to go back to that old house" I thought.

I believe there may be answers to my strange dreams within its walls. Perhaps something that can help me unravel the mysteries of my memories and past.

The place where all these memories started to resurface. Maybe then I'll find the answers I'm looking for. 

"I need to go there by myself . Bu- but then, he will know! I need to make sure he didn't know i go there!"

"So how? Ahhh!.." (An idea surface)

"I can use a trip as a fabrication" I thought.

"Mayb- maybe I need some time?" He said with anticipation that his idea will be accepted.

My father nods, his expression still concerned but accepting.

"Yes, maybe you do need some time," he says. 

"Time to think, to process everything. I understand that this is a lot to take in, and it's a lot to deal with. So take all the time you need."

"Is there anything I can do to help? Do you want to take a walk or something?" he says, his tone sympathetic. Father nods again, understanding my need to release some stress.

"A short trip.... maybe?" I said with hesitation.

"Alright," he says, his tone supportive.

"A short trip sounds like a good idea. Where are you thinking of going?"

 "Is there somewhere specific you have in mind?" he asks, his voice quiet and thoughtful.

"I don't know yet," I say

"Just for a little while. I need to go somewhere, somewhere far away from here, somewhere where I can forget about all of this and just relax and clear my head without anyone."

My father looks at me with an understanding expression, his eyes soft and compassionate.

"I can understand that," he says, his tone gentle. 

"But please, promise me you'll be careful. And promise me you'll come back soon. I'll worry about you if you're gone too long."

"Please promise me one more thing," he says, his voice soft.

"Promise me that you'll let me know how you're feeling. That you'll be honest with me about... about everything. Can you promise me that?"

My father watches me silently for a moment, his expression troubled.

"Please," he says, his tone almost pleading and desperate.

"I'm only asking you this because I care about you. I want to help you, I just want to know what's going on with you. but I can't do that if you're shutting me out. Please, just promise me you'll talk to me."

"Yes." I said as I am in disbelief and speechless by his reaction.

My father lets out a sigh of relief, his expression relaxes slightly.

"Thank you," he says, his voice softer now. 

"I know it's not easy for you to open up, and I know that you're going through a lot. But I'm here for you, always. Remember that, okay?

"Yes." I repeated as it's the only thing that can came out my mouth.

My father nods and gives me a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

"Good," he says, his tone firm but gentle.

"Take care of yourself, okay? And don't hesitate to call me if you need anything."

My father watches me silently for a moment longer, his expression a mix of concern and faith.

"I love you," he says finally, his voice soft and sincere.

"And I trust that you'll be okay. Promise me you'll come back soon."

My father's sincere words and gentle expression seem to catch me off guard, and I am surprised at how earnest he is being. It is not often that he shows such vulnerability, and it takes me a moment to process his words.

His sincere expression and gentle tone seems to belie any pretense or subterfuge, and I find yourself believing him a little more than I did before.

Despite the softening in my suspicion towards my father, a nagging fear still lurks in the back of my mind. The possibility that he could be the murderer still weighs heavily on my heart, and I find it difficult to completely let go of my distrust.

With a renewed sense of purpose, I begin to pack my luggage, grabbing essentials such as clothes and other necessary items. As I pack, my mind continues to wander, the images of my memories flickering through your mind.

The sense of urgency and the need to uncover the truth about my memories consumes me. I feel a strong compulsion to get to the bottom of the strange and vivid memories that have been popping up in my mind.

I bid farewell to my father, giving him a small nod of acknowledgment. Since my mother is in the hospital, I only have time to tell my father to send my regards to her. With your luggage in hand, I leave for the old house, my mind filled with determination and anticipation. 

I hail a taxi and instruct the driver to take me to Riverglen Village . As the taxi glides through the streets, my heart pounds with anticipation. I can hardly wait to arrive at the house and begin my exploration of my memories.

The taxi pulls up outside my old house, and my peer out the window, my eyes wide with anticipation.

"This is it," I say aloud to yourself, my voice barely above a whisper.

"The house where everything began..."