Memory Lane






Memory Lane control stories
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Autoplay OFF   •   3 months ago
#7 in my Phobia Series. My previous story seem to have gone well, much to my delight, so I decided to try my hand at it again. This time, about 'philophobia'. Thank you for reading. <3

Memory Lane

P H I L O P H O B I A

P H I L O P H O B I A is the fear of emotional attachment and losing control of your emotions due to that.

Albert approached with great trepidation, his back creaking like wearied wood as he tried not to startle the unexpected sight before him.

Albert approached with great trepidation, his back creaking like wearied wood as he tried not to startle the unexpected sight before him. The wind was the only witness, crackling through shrubbery and foliage, as his steps neared him towards the abandoned stroller.

It had been eons since Albert had seen a baby, let alone held one. Nevertheless, he approached the child that was left in the middle of the woodlands, in a hardly used footpath.

One that Albert decided on a whim to explore today and be alone with his torrential thoughts. "How ironic", he mumbled as he began his perusal on this startling spectacle.

She, (for the child was not an alien subspecies, much to Albert's disdain, but a girl who was seemingly about three months in age), was only wrapped in worn clothing,

She, (for the child was not an alien subspecies, much to Albert's disdain, but a girl who was seemingly about three months in age), was only wrapped in worn clothing, the likes of which have dried out and whose colours have bled profusely, that they hardly resemble their former selves.

"Nae that ah kin say anythin' ", he thought out loud, gravelly voice dull from disuse, "Ah dinnae hae th' best claes noo, dae I?" Upon hearing his voice, the child gurgled.

"Enough wi' ye", Albert responded rather gruffly. The child laughed as if it had been tickled and teased to its wit's end.

"Enough wi' ye", Albert responded rather gruffly. The child laughed as if it had been tickled and teased to its wit's end. "Och Marjorie, whit wid ye dae in this situation?", he said, face turned towards the heavens with a wistful sigh, then back to the craggy path that he had come from which lead back to a hidden graveyard.

A little haven for his own little family.

Albert knew he would join his family soon; though he was a fit man at his 72 years, often found walking with the sole companionship of his dog, Thistle, his paper skin gave other impressions.

At that moment, Thistle chose to come bounding down the path and paw at the stroller. Being a proud Scotsmen, Albert chose to name his dog after their national flower. "Calm yersel', dug. Ye'r juist as bad as th' bairn", Albert quipped, earning a bark and yet another gurgle.

No-one had approached the strange sight of an old man rocking a babe for quite some time now, and the sky had began to softly kiss the horizon.

Whoever had left the child had also left a bottle of milk near the child's head, so Albert placed it to her lips and watched her guzzle it down as if she was the one who spent three hours guarding a child left in fields of heather.

Glaring at the baby, Albert saw Marjorie in her hazel, doe-like eyes. His loving wife, he had last seen here some thirty years ago.

Glaring at the baby, Albert saw Marjorie in her hazel, doe-like eyes. His loving wife, he had last seen here some thirty years ago.

But then her smile turned into a frantic plea for help, fire and smoke reflected in her eyes, his young son of 3 years began to scream, a once-solid structure began to fall and Albert lost his reasons for living. Exhaling gently, he remembered the words of the fire service that day: there was no way to stop the fire spreading.

Albert was lucky to not have been at home. But he was not lucky. He was never lucky.

The child began to cry, shocking him out of his cruel trip down the rocky path named 'Memory Lane'.

The child began to cry, shocking him out of his cruel trip down the rocky path named 'Memory Lane'. He had made his mind up.

"Wheesht, bairn. We're gaun", Albert grumbled, though his face was soft with a smile. Marjorie would approve. And so would little Edward, he thought. He hoped they were watching. He missed them.

Walking down the craggy path, Alert mumbled his thoughts; his neighbours were foster carers, a young couple of 25.

Walking down the craggy path, Alert mumbled his thoughts; his neighbours were foster carers, a young couple of 25. Perhaps he'd see little Hazel again, hear her gurgling laugh as he led her and Thistle down towards the police station and far from Memory Lane.

"Tak' a picture, marjorie. It wid lest langer", he muttered with the same half-smile as he imagined Marjorie laughing from above at his obvious lack of knowledge in caring for a child, but he was determined to learn. That counted for something, right?

No, I am not Scottish. ^.^ But I can do a pretty good accent though.... Anyways, my aunt is, so any Scottish dialect is based on how she speaks and a bit of my own judgement. Just a little behind the scene action for you lucky people. ;)

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