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Synopsis

Do you know anyone who has trouble remembering anything? Well sage cant remember much, she can remember bits and peices of who she is and how she got 2961km from her antigonish ns home to Adams Tn. Read along and price together the life of sage and mister squirrel Stache as they prove sages innocence for a crime she cant remember if she commit.


Chapter #1

memory 1

” excuse me dear but what is your name” a man perhaps a police officer with a southern accent and a moustache that reminded me of a squirrel was waiting for my answer. I looked around and saw a mirror, my hair was a mess and I looked like I had just woken up from a 100 year nap. I looked down my clothes were not mine atleast i didn’t think they were mine, a plaid shirt unbuttoned revealing a black tank and I was wearing ripped jeans and to complete the look muddy combat boots. ” ma’am ? Your name?” The officer asked again.

”Oh yeah its sage, sage Elliot butler. Sir.” I whispered. My mom told me that you whisper to adults and tell them nothing about you family if the adults are cops.

”Well sage, do you know where you are?”he asked politely

” no sir I don’t know where I am.” I sounded desperate or guilty maybe I wasn’t sure.

” well dear you are in Adams Tennessee.” He sounded so caring. But I wasn’t sure if it was an act or not. Another police officer came in, he was much younger than officer
squirrel-stache.”Thank you deputy.” Maybe he was kind.” So miss butler you are quiet the long ways from home dear.”

”Yes I am. Umm one thing where is home?” I couldn’t believe it, if I can remember my mother’s advice why the hell can I not remember where I live?

”Oh dear. Sweetie can you remember anything about you or your family? Or anything in general?” He seemed so desperate to help me. I think he is actually kind.

”Umm I think so. I remembered ,my name after all.” We sat there for a few minutes in complete silence officer squirell-staches brows raised as if he was waiting for me to keep talking.

”Can you tell me what you remember?” He inquired curiously.

”No.” I said casually. To me this was a normal response to that question. I was asked it multiple times by family services you see.

” well can you write them down, and I will read them later so no one else will ever know. Is that OK?” He was confused. The poor man.

” sure. How about I number them so we know how Many things I can remember?” He is telling the truth about not sharing I know it.

”Ok dear.” His face lit up as he handed me a book and pen. ” how about we bring you to a comfier spot. This interrogation room is not so nice. OK?”

I nodded my head and stood up. An interrogation room thats what this was called.

Memory#1

What might be the oldest memory of my childhood is also something that will do nothing short of haunt me tremendously for more than a few years. I was at my grandma’s, for Christmas. I raced downstairs ready to be greeted by presents and candy and hot chocolate every picture perfect Christmas from all of the books I read and stories I have heard from my peers. So I got downstairs and I looked at the Christmas tree it was full of presents but what caught my eye was a bright pink box. I raced towards it accidentally spilling my moms famous cup of ”coffee”(a splash of coffee mixed with whatever cheap alcohol my mother could buy on her waitress salary). I ripped open the box to be greeted by an unimaginable stench. The only thing I wanted was a puppy and I got one. A dead one.

“Merry Christmas sweetie” my mother slurred. My eyes were glassy from the puppy incident, I got slapped for crying about a gift.” You selfish bitch!” My mother was livid, oh and by the way I was six. ” I buy food for you, let you sleep on my floor” she paused for a drink and noticed the coffee I spilled.” Did you spill this?” She spit in my face. ”Did. You . Spill. THIS?” she was screaming and I had no choice but to answer her .
‘Yes mama.” I whispered as a tear rolled down my cheek.

”Don’t you ever do that again!” She slapped me as my grandma came down stairs.

”What is going on here!” My grandma said horrified at the beating I had received.

”She hates my gift And she spilled my drink. The brat deserved a slap.” She said frigidly. As she slapped me again, this time harder. I screamed.

”Oh my! Come here honey.” My grandma said as she grabbed me and moved me out of my mothers reach.”get out!” My grandma said. ”Get the hell out!” This was the first time I had seen my grandma like this. I turned around and my mother was gone. I cried but only from pain. I was glad she was gone.

I got a bruise that family services enjoyed examining. My grandma got to keep me after she was testified. They had to be sure it wasn’t her. And thats all the memory was. It ended like a movie.

”Umm officer one in the bank” i whispered across the room

”Can I read it?” He asked. I handed it to him ”thank you dear.”

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Reagan Morris

St. Andrews, Canada

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