Amber

She could still smell the sweat on his skin and feel his heated hands, but her memory had begun to soften and warp them. Her hands wrapped around the railing pleasantly, her abdomen tensing, her champagne chiffon dress bunched. The sunset was dying, colors draped over each other, creating a shimmery mirage that refracted on frothing seawater. Her eyes took in the coast in new beauty and awe each time, it cracked up and down baring blinding white nothing. She had always liked how exposed it was, her mind could wander seeing naked beach and peeled sky. The sky was translucent, a thin lace of sapphire-colored clouds coated it now. In the distance she could see fermenting storm clouds, they always lingered over the other island. She rubbed her neck unaware, the freckled skin had grown loose and pampered. Brushing over a lean chain her eyes focused on the distant island again, the pendant quivered. It was miles and worlds away, death and sadness lingered on the island and she’d never forget when the world changed. Her eyes elevated back to the shore, from the wiggling grass to the tumultuous drop of barbed rocks and then to the stoned shore, nothing could make her remember him more.

She felt eyes on her back. She knew who they were, they stood out in the hallway of blackened burgundy wood; lifeless eyes like hers. Propping herself against the railing, she glanced at him. He turned, moving briskly to the next room in worn Salvatore Ferragamos, producing rounded clip-clopping on the somber marble floor. She walked towards the bathroom.

Closing the sliding bathroom door, she met herself. She always looked at her eyes first, she could trust them the most, even at her age. They politely sagged, and the wrinkles smiled and frowned, framing rounded glum globes of silver. Her nose was aquiline, a strongly curved marmoreal nose enlivened with flesh and the rouge of blood. Flesh settled around her high cheekbones, securely pallid as veins scattered towards her eyes. Her hair was peppered, gray hairs muting her once chestnut color. Her gaze traveled downwards, she didn’t like her body. The way it slid in and out of her dresses, changing the curved line of the gown to a beloved lumped cracked shoreline she knew all too well. Her dress was the color of cream rising, happily, it catherdered her fat and sucked it into an empire dress line. She looked at the necklace that wound her throat, it was shaped in a heart, a locket with amber as gold and translucent as melting honey. Though her memory continually failed her, she never would forget the locket. That day was overcast and the sun savored him, turning his skin copper. He was wearing an old paint-marked tunic, a circus of blushing chroma. He held the locket out. It was practiced in its beauty, curved in strong lines of bronze, the shape smoothing out to be a heart. It held a prominent amber stone that followed the shape. The amber enveloped bits of flora and fauna; a planted cast, frozen forever. He held her hands when he presented her the locket, they were rough and textured from metalwork. He made self-deprecating jokes as he placed the locket on her, a flushed face mentioning amber symbolizing love undying, love forever. It was heavy and pressed in her skin. Her eyes were blistered with emotion when he faced her again, and he went silent. The weight of the locket anchored her back into the bathroom and she took one more look, soaking up bereaved eyes, the glowing locket, and her dress clotting on her fat.

Opening the bathroom door she found the hallway dim and she could see the dust dance in faint currents, holding the last of the sun. The sky was navy, and cirrus clouds were faintly sprinkled across the horizon. She adjusted her dress in the hallway, the hallway was the color of henna, blistering orange in the morning light and cooler chocolate in the evening. She loved the contrast, spending hours watching the sea meet shore, watching the island, watching her body age. Fixing the last knick on her dress, she steadily walked into the next room. The next room was alive, breath stirring the restless air. It was enveloped in blue, one stark light cast shadows on a limited amount of food, an embarrassing amount compared to the enormity of the table it lay on. Sitting down she noted there seemed to be fewer dishes. Ginger butter hens and coconut lime-crusted halibut didn’t make an appearance and she could now count the desserts on the table. She faced the man at the end of the table, he was gaunt with loose skin covering his sunken green eyes. He was dressed smartly with silver swallow cufflinks on a royal navy suit. He’d nearly drunk all of his red wine and she could feel him itch for more. She watched him swig the rest. The maid, a sprite of a woman rushed over pouring the next glass. He opened his whiskered mouth as she returned to her position, his hand already around the cup.

“A new wave of the 2170 plague has taken Hong Kong, thus…” he waved to the lessened amount of food. She nodded absently.

He took rhythmic sips of the wine, waving over another servant.

“Bring the news.”

The servant straightened his small suit, and wiped his mousy face with the back of his hand, and brought the news.

She took the newspaper and in small bouts read it quickly, digesting the Hong Kong doomsday discovery. Looking at her husband, she nodded at the recent grim spread. He had moved on to the food, a lacerated salmon oozed over his risotto. Her mind veered to the practitioner tomorrow, her nerves had been high and she had forgotten. She expected pain tomorrow.

“Very well. Is the practitioner set to arrive tomorrow?” stabbing her salmon.

He looked up, nodding yes. She felt herself shiver. Quiet overtook the vicinity, snuggling into crevices of conversation and opened mouths. She’d forgotten the time she met her husband, and she doubted he remembered either. She wasn’t in love with him, they tolerated each other. Being a doctor he often was away while she withered alone in the house. He found comfort in alcohol and she did in the past. She only knew him to restore the world's dwindling population, but they were both barren and despondent. Nothing came of the union but motionless dinners. She didn’t know him and didn’t try to.

The blue room held her tight, morphing the departed light to starless shadows. She sat in the dining room, nervously skinning her fingers with her teeth. The dark cast shadows in her wrinkles, playing hide and seek in the folds. She was nervous, if the operation failed she would die, but if she didn’t he would die in her memories. She remembered when she saw the ad, it embodied pure science; white laboratories, clean women in elegant dresses, clear Petri dishes, and test tubes. The intensifying continual motto recited pleasantly by a wisened withered man “After all, life is just collecting memories, in the end, it’s all you have.” It hit home for everyone, she thought. Her mind was forgetting his face and she’d do anything to see him clearly. Everyone wanted a taste of the life they had before. Before the pandemic caused pestilent lumps the size of Christmas ornaments and before coughing soaked everyone's throats bloody flushing their lips red. The epidemic deadened cities and leveled governments, only the rich seemed to remain. That’s how she lost him, he died on that island.

She felt faint, thoughts tired tracks in her head. Rising, her dress pooled on her ankles. She entered the hallway, her feet slipped upstairs on the cold linoleum to her bedroom. It was dark when she entered her room, thermal twilight stuck to the walls comfortably. She pulled off her gown, it slithered down her legs and fell into a supple mound of fabric. Pulling on a thin simple shift she climbed into bed wrapping the thick sheets around her until sleep kissed her.

She awoke to a bitter acrid taste. The day swirled, like viscous cream in her black coffee, she’d never felt such delirium in her life since she was with him. The practitioner arrived at dawn and set up in the hallway. She peeked into the hallway at him, glimpsing a white chair. Her mind shivered and her hands grasped the locket. Taking a deep breath she entered the vast hallway. Coral light sweetened the hue of the clinically white chair and she greeted the practitioner, he had a disheveled goatee, and his eyes crinkled when he squinted at the manual.

He briefly explained the process, her mind skimming his words until he asked the memories she wanted and where she wanted them to be placed.

“All my memories from June 23, 2165, to September 16, 2170,” she said resolutely, elation on her tongue.

“I want all the memories to be stored in this locket,” she said, unfastening the locket.

Before handing him it, she felt the weight in her hands, feeling his hands around hers, she had a quick moment of doubt, a feeling of fear, but soon she wouldn’t be able to see him in her mind so she gave the locket over.

She felt him spread a thin topical over her nape, and then a needle five inches long contacted her skin, piercing her spine. The pain was electric, violating, making her head arch in lightning pain. She wanted to scream but she was frozen as tears wet her face, and her eyes became petrified orbs. She could only fixate on the world in front of her, the burgeoning sky ringed in lemon and apricot, with creamed dollops of clouds. The tip of the distant island seemed to have more light engulfing it, she thought.

The needle eventually retracted, and she found herself watching the tide, the calming motion brought fading memories back. Memories of being ripped from him, a violent departing, goodbyes garbled as the pandemic overtook them. She thanked the practitioner and left the room. Determination lacing her mind she turned out of the hallway, feet hitting the polished floor. Heading upstairs to her room, new air seemed to fill the room, and she could feel electricity linger in her blood. She lay back on her bed, seeing dust clinging to each other. Taking a deep breath, she focused her mind and her memories. She closed her eyes, her nerves on end, vellus hair rising. Concentrating her mind she grabbed the locket. A flash of light appeared and then a dark unending tunnel and then summer.

Summer was dawning, and the tide was high. The sky was bright and she could feel the sun scald her face. Her skin was smooth, unmarked by wrinkles, un-reddened, and full-bodied. She was on their shoreline, the pebbles painfully dug into her heels. Looking out on the sea, she found it was the color of sea glass, and seaweed reached out from it, lapping their salty tongues on her toes. The shore eased her mind, and she felt a lull. She felt the pebbles shift next to her and there he was. Her first love, her only love. In her memories he glowed like the amber her memories held, it pained her to see him knowing his actual fate. His face was in the shape of a heart, with trusted fawn-colored eyes flecked with amber. Wavy curls that were illuminated with gold and strong Roman lips, fluid and the color of a dahlia. The softness of rain began to fall when he smiled and she smiled back, they shifted to watch the idle tide and rain. Inside her memories, she knew she’d be meeting him again and again for the remainder of her life. They were their memories, perfectly stuck in amber; petrified.