The cold morning air hit me like a slap as the bus bumped down the familiar, winding road —I promised myself I would return". Twenty-three years. It had been that long since I'd left this place, this town, and all the pain that came with it. I was just seven when I left, too young to fully understand what had happened. But the memories didn't care about age. They lingered, sticking to me like a shadow, following me everywhere. No matter how far I went, they never let go.
The bus creaked and groaned as it swerved around the rough curves. I pressed my forehead against the window, watching the landscape blur by — the same trees, the same hills, the same dust. Everything looked so small now, almost faded. Like someone had erased the bright colors of my past and left behind a dull, gray version of the place I used to know.
But the memories? They were still here, buried under layers of time and distance, waiting to resurface. I could feel it. The weight of their cries and wails still pierced through my ears, their faces haunted me, every day, every night.
I didn't want to look, didn't want to face it. But I had no choice.
As the bus neared the town's outskirts, my hand tightened around the seat, my nails digging into the fabric. My heart was thumping so loudly in my chest I almost couldn't hear the bus's engine over it. But I forced myself to breathe. Deep, slow breaths. I couldn't let the fear take over. I wasn't that scared little girl anymore.
No. I was different now. Stronger. More prepared. I could do this. I have to do this
The town appeared through the foggy morning light, sitting like a corpse, stuck in time. The buildings were smaller than I remembered, the streets quieter. Nothing felt familiar and everything felt familiar at the same time. But I couldn't deny it — this was the place. The place where everything had started. The place where I lost everything, I ever cared about. I reached into my bag, my fingers brushing against something cold. The worn photo. The one I'd kept all these years. My mother, smiling. My sister, grinning beside her. It was before. Before everything turned to ash.
The driver's voice broke through my thoughts, announcing the next stop. My stomach tightened. This was it. No more running. No more hiding. I was here, and I was going to face what happened — no matter what.
The doors of the bus slid open with a hiss, and I stepped out, the dry air hitting me full force. I took a deep breath, letting the familiar scent of dust and old memories fill my lungs. This town, these streets, everything was like a scar I'd tried to forget but had never truly healed. I felt something twisting and churning in my stomach, as if I will throw up any moment,
RUN AMYY RUN!!
Our burning house, I started seeing things. Hearing voices.
MOM!!!
Their faces started haunting me, I covered my ears trying to stop any sounds but it was constant,
BANG!!.
A door slammed.
Fingernails scratching at the floor…..
"YOU KILLED HER!"
"COME HERE WE WON'T BITE!"
"HAHAHHAH!"
AHHHHHHHHHHH…. ENOUGH….ENOUGH!!
I fell on the ground frantically searching for my medicine, popping it I gulp down with water as I tried to calm myself down. My breath was ragged, the pill still dissolving on my tongue. The voice die down but the memory still left me vulnerable.
Then I felt it — a hand on my shoulder. I flinched hard, recoiling.
"Hey—hey! It's okay!" a voice said, gentle but firm.
I looked up, eyes still swimming, heart hammering. A man, maybe in his fifties, stood beside me, concern etched into his weathered face. He wore a khaki jacket and held a cloth bag in one hand — local, definitely local.
"You alright?" he asked, crouching beside me. "You looked like you were going to pass out."
I wanted to say yes, but my lips didn't move. My body felt miles away from my voice.
"Come on," he said, offering me a bottle of water. "Just breathe. One breath at a time. Deep in. Out."
I nodded shakily. Took a slow sip. My hands were trembling, but his calmness anchored me, just enough.
"I… I'm fine," I whispered, barely audible. "Tha…T..Thank…. you." N...no no he cannot see me like this, he cannot think I'm alone, vulnerable, he will think I'm weak and n..no he cannot…. What if he is one of them? N,,,no n.noo . I got up as I started running. The past the nightmare, my trust issues on bay high now, I turned and started running down the cracked sidewalk, past rusting fences and shuttered stores. My bag bounced against my side with every stride, the photo of my mother and sister still clutched in my hand. I didn't stop to look around, didn't stop to breathe.
"RUN AMY RUN!" My mom's voice echoed in my head as I Just ran....
By the time I reached hotel my chest was burning. I burst through the glass door and stumbled to the reception desk.
The receptionist blinked up at me in surprise.
"I have a reservation," I gasped. A…Amalia Vale.
She nodded slowly, typing something in. As I stood there, heart pounding, clothes damp with sweat. I took the key and made my way to the room.
The key clicked. Room 108.
I stepped inside, locked the door behind me, and dropped the bag. The room was plain — a bed, a desk, a mirror I refused to look at. I sat on the edge of the bed, photo still in my hand. My mother. My sister. Before everything fell apart.
'What was I even doing here?' I asked myself, the weight of my own thoughts suffocating me. I could leave. Catch the next bus and pretend none of this ever happened. But if I did, would the past ever truly let me go?
The sounds, the memories, the vivid images—they haunted me, gnawing at my mind. My stomach twisted, the bitterness rising up as the flood of images grew too much to handle. I rushed toward the bathroom, barely making it before I emptied my stomach, emptying everything I had inside.
My hands gripped the cold edge of the sink as I stared at the water swirling down the drain. The sour taste still clung to my tongue, the nausea a dull throb in my gut. I looked up slowly — and met a stranger's gaze in the mirror.
Eyes rimmed with fear. Face pale. Breath unsteady.
Was this really me? Or just the ghost of the girl who had once fled this place?
I pressed a trembling hand to the glass, as if I could reach in and pull her out. Save her. Warn her.
But the truth wrapped around my throat like a noose:
I was here.
I had come back.
And now… I had to choose.
I could leave. Walk away. Pretend none of this ever happened.
But would the past really let me go?
She ran once. But now she's back, with more than memories chasing her.Will Amalia Walk away again… or finally face what brought her home?What would you do? Stay… or run?