Memory
Amanda Cunningham


My memory failed me. I told myself to remember that the event never occurred, and I had reacted confidently. In the memory, I was on a train, reading about a scandal in the newspaper, when a bump and crash threw the train on its side. People screamed and scattered, and I fell against an emergency window. A piece of furniture rushed down the floor that had become an erecting wall and I spun away from it, the furniture landing beside me. I tore open the emergency window and carried survivors outside the smoking car. But the memory lied. I had panicked. I screamed. I fell at the feet of fear and begged for my life to be spared. I was on a plane. A terrorist blew up the front compartment and the plane tilted toward the sea. I ripped a life-vest from the hands of the person beside me. A mother. A child. An elder. I can't remember.

 

About the author:
Amanda Cunningham resides in Long Island (LAWN GUY-LAND), New York, and recently graduated from Eastern University with a B.A. in Writing. She is pursuing a M.A. in Elementary Education so she can hopefully teach children to love reading and writing. This is her first publication.