Anya King-Emanuele
WoB Short Story Contest 11/13/25
To Heal Is To Remember
I wake up in a sort of bliss. The sun is shining, and all feels right in the world. But that’s not quite right. My head hurts and I feel like I’m missing something. Like I should be feeling a certain way and acting differently. And maybe I am; I’m not sure yet.
Suddenly, I’m aware of my surroundings. I look around and try to remember where I am. I’m in my room, I think. But I’m not sure, it’s just not right. Before the room felt happy, I’m not sure how I know this. I don’t remember this room, but it seems to remember me. The wall opposite the bed calls me, beckoning me. I stand up and start to walk over. I know there will be photos before I even see them. In one, there is a girl laughing, clinging to her friend. She’s doubled over in glee, her eyes glimmer with tears of joy. She’s radiant, like the sun or peace herself. She seems so happy. So normal. But that was before.
I try to smile like her, I pull at my face, but it doesn’t work. I don’t think it will ever work like that again. I turn away from the photos; they make my head hurt. My heart feels a sharp pain when I turn away. They want me to remember. But I can’t, not yet. I walk to the wardrobe, my wardrobe, and start to get ready. I ignore the suitcase. The one that never got the chance to get unpacked. I look through the drawers of the dressers, I search for something. I’m not sure what, but I know it's here. But how do I know it's here? This is not my dresser, this is not my room. Or is it? It doesn’t feel right; something is missing. Frustrated, I slide to the floor and start to cry.
After a while, I wipe my tear-streaked face and look up. I face a mirror. It’s covered by a blanket, but I can see a hint of a reflection slipping through. I hesitate, stand up, and then decide to go to it. I start to uncover it, but a pain
shoots through my head. It feels like I’m burning but drowning at the same time. I cry out in pain and drop to my knees. I cover my head and shout. My vision goes white, and all I can think about is the pain. What pain though? Where does it come from? As sudden as it came, the blinding pain went away. I stand up, swaying, cover the mirror, and drag myself back to bed.
I curl up in a ball, ready to repeat the cycle again. Maybe tomorrow will be the day. Maybe then I will remember.
I sleep for hours or days, or maybe not at all. Time passes differently here; it can speed by fast, but also feel endless at the same time. Everything is different here. Today, it took me a little less time to remember. I woke up and everything was normal. Then, a little later, I felt a blanket of doom cascading over me. The same one I’ve felt every day since I woke up here. And just like every other day, the same loop happens. I wake up, I remember, I look at photos, and then the mirror. I expect something to change, but it never does.
But today will be different. I’ll look at a different photo this time. Maybe then it will give me a different clue. I walk to the photo wall, and I see that girl again. I can’t help but wish I were her. I wish to be anywhere else than this unfamiliar world. In this body, with these memories, I don’t remember.
I take the photo down and I shove it in my pocket. She is keeping me from figuring this place out. I look at the next photo. It’s the same girl again! She’s younger and has a cake in front of her. She’s blowing out the candles, making a wish. Next to her is a woman and a man. They look just like her, only older and wiser. I decide I like them better than the girl. The girl. Who is this girl, and why do I feel like I know her? Or at least knew her before. She’s different now.
The more I look into those faces, the more I feel like I am missing something. Like a part of me. But I don’t know who I am. Maybe I am nothing but everything at the same time. The only thing I know is the pain in my chest,
begging to be released. I try to push it down, but that only makes it worse. I’ll just ignore it, maybe then it will go away?
Exhausted, I head back to my bed. I will not search for it today. Nor will I look in the mirror. I looked at another photo, and that was enough for today. Tomorrow will be the day. Tomorrow I will find a way back.
I think I’ve decided I died. Or dying, and this loop is my last moments before death. But no, that can’t be true. In heaven, I wouldn’t be feeling this pain. Or maybe I’m in hell, maybe I deserve it. No, I have to still be alive. I would remember if I died. I just can’t remember anything. I know I should. I think it's better if I just forget.
The girl in the mirror talks to me. That's why I covered her up. If I can’t hear her, I can almost pretend she doesn’t exist. I don’t know who she is or what she looks like. All I know is she’s not good. She whispers when it's quiet. It’s almost always quiet. She taps against the glass; sometimes she pounds against it. She is desperate, and it scares me. When I forget and go to sleep, she pounds louder, she screams. Covering my ears against her whispers, I walk to the door.
“Open it. Escape. Go to them.” She whispers. This is just one of the phrases she rehearses. I do try to listen to her sometimes. I turn the handle, but the door doesn’t open. It's locked, and I need to find the key. That's what I’m looking for. I forgot for a moment. How could I forget? She tells me I’m the key, but that makes no sense. How can I be the key if I don’t know who I am? Maybe there is a clue in the photos.
I walk to the photo wall and search through the photos. There are only two I understand. The girl and her friend. The girl and her parents. I’ve decided that's who they are. Her parents. But I still do not know her. When I look at her, I feel a pang of sadness. A pang of jealousy. I try to look at the next photo. The more I stare, the more I hurt. This time, the girl is with a guy. She’s all grown up, and she’s getting married. I feel so happy for her. She met the love of her life. Where’s the love of my life? Why can’t he come and get me from this
place? Once again, I cry. I cry for myself and for the man in the photo. I miss him, but I don’t even know him.
“Yes, you do. You need to remember,” the mirror whispers. I do not answer back. The pain is too heavy, I will not remember. I choose not to. Instead, I go to the desk. I search for the key and the missing part of my soul. Maybe I need the key to feel whole again. Maybe that's what I’m missing.
The desk is messy. There are tissues everywhere. Papers were scattered over the surface. I do not look at the papers. It’s not for me to see, at least not right now. I flip through the books that are open on the desk. There could be something hidden in the pages. I do not find anything.
I look in the wardrobe, in the small box at the bottom. I look through the pockets of the hanging clothes. Nothing, only papers and small gadgets. I feel a sense of deja vu, like I’ve already been here before. As if I’m repeating a cycle. I know it's time for the cycle to end, so I go back to sleep.
The mirror wakes me up again. Well, I’ve been awake for a while. Just staring at the wall, listening to the pleas. While I’m staring, I can’t stop thinking about the guy from the photo. The image of his face drifts through my restless thoughts. I miss him. I miss him so much it hurts.
The mirror tells me she can make it better. I just have to take the blanket off and listen. She tells me it will hurt, a hurt that will be hard to get over. I think that’s okay, though. It can’t be that different from the hurt I feel now. The hurt of missing him. So I get up from bed, walk over to the mirror, and pull the blanket down.
There is a woman in the mirror, her hair is greasy, and she has black smudges under her eyes. She was once beautiful, I can tell.
“What happened to you? Who are you?” I ask, reaching my hand to hers. No response now. She mimics everything I do and doesn’t whisper to me now. I wish I had never spoken to her.
To heal is to remember. She told me this often. I whisper the phrase to her, and suddenly she awakens. A sparkle of hope flashed through her eyes.
Just a glimmer of hope changed her entire demeanor. She seemed to radiate now, and it was beautiful. She was beautiful.
“Yes,” She whispered, “To heal is to remember, you know who I am.” And suddenly I remember. She is the woman from the photo. “You, you ' re the girl from before,” I question.
“Yes, that’s right. But who am I?”
I think about that question. I really think. Who is she? Who am I?
“You're me,” I whisper, “And I’m you.” And now everything makes sense. The pictures, the tissues, the suitcase, the bruises, and finally, him. I drop to my knees and weep.
We were going on vacation together. Our first as a family of three. A family of three…
I remember now, my daughter, my husband. I was so tired, I didn’t see the car. And now they're gone, and it’s all my fault. I need to forget again.
“No, you’re wrong,” my reflection tells me. “Do not forget, go look at the papers and the photos.” I rush to the photos, hoping for a glimpse of the time before. I look at the last photo on the wall. It’s my husband and me. Between us is a smiling little girl. I rip the photo from the wall and cling it to my chest.
Sobbing, I run to the papers on the desk.
A certificate of death. For my husband. Not my daughter. I breathe a sigh of relief. I found the key. The key was always her; she’s the missing part of my soul. I wonder where she is.
“She is waiting for you. Go to her,” The mirror whispers. So I do. I walk to the door, and it opens. She is waiting for me with open arms.
My life won’t be the same as before, but I can relearn to live with her. It will be hard and it will hurt, but it will always be worth it. To heal is to remember, and I remember now. I will never forget again.