Fractured Remembrance: "A Tale Of What Came Before"

Chapter 3: Shadows Of The Past

George POV:

As I slowly came to, I found myself seated at the familiar dining table of my childhood home, facing a plate of food that bore an uncanny resemblance to my mother's signature dish. The sight was unsettling, as it had been years since I last found myself in this place. Just as my hand moved to pick up the fork, a sense of unease washed over me, causing me to push the plate away.

Before I could dwell on my strange surroundings, a distorted image caught the corner of my eye. I turned to see the apparition of my mother, her form wavering as if not quite solid. "Georgie, why won't you taste my delicious cooking?" she inquired in a voice that felt both familiar and distant.

"I'm just not hungry, Ma," I replied, fidgeting with my hands in a nervous gesture reminiscent of my childhood. "My appetite isn't quite there."

"You never were anything special, were you? All those clubs I put you in, all that time wasted. You took after your father," my mother spat, her words slicing through the air like a whip, the sound echoing through my mind. With a jolt, I leaped out of my chair and made for the door.

"Oh, go on, run like you always do," her voice taunted as I stormed out of the room and ascended the stairs.

"Shut the hell up, you evil woman! I never knew what my father saw in you. You were an awful mother, and I'm so glad I put you in that home!" I shouted back before the scene suddenly shifted, and I found myself in a different room altogether.

It was furnished with a desk and a couch, the atmosphere reminiscent of a therapist's office. My eyes widened in surprise, and I sank into a nearby chair, taking a moment to gather my thoughts. After composing myself, I stood up and wiped my eyes.

Just as I was trying to make sense of the sudden change in surroundings, the distorted image of a therapist materialized at the desk before me. "Mr. Milton? We aren't through with the session," the therapist stated calmly.

"I've said all I wanted to say," I replied, uncertainty creeping into my voice.

The therapist clicked a fountain pen together and leaned forward. "Mr. Milton, you spoke of your mother and a little of your father."

Resigned, I took a seat on the plush couch. "My father was a good man, but I didn't have much time with him. He passed away when I was 10. He worked as a coal miner and tragically developed a severe case of tuberculosis."

"My mother was different. She was... cruel. She would force me to eat disgusting food, treated me with cruelty, and struggled with alcoholism," I confessed, my hands fidgeting nervously.

The therapist glanced at a small clock on the desk. "That's all we've got time for, I'm afraid."

Without warning, I felt myself being pulled and everything began to blur around me. In an instant, I found myself standing in a private room of a wedding chapel, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I was dressed in my wedding suit, and the realization hit me like a ton of bricks-today was the day I was to marry Matilda, a memory that felt as vivid as if it had happened just yesterday.

The soft melody of the piano filled the air as I stood at the altar, my heart racing with anticipation. The church was adorned with flowers of all colours, their sweet fragrance mixing with the nervous energy swirling inside me. I straightened my tie and adjusted my jacket, stealing a quick glance at the beaming faces of our friends and family gathered to witness our union.

As I looked down the aisle, my breath caught in my throat. There she was, my beautiful Matilda, walking toward me with graceful steps. Her radiant smile and the sparkle in her eyes took my breath away. She looked stunning in her ivory gown, her veil trailing behind her like a delicate cloud. I couldn't help but marvel at how lucky I was to have found such an incredible woman to spend the rest of my life with.

As Matilda approached the altar, I reached out to take her hand, feeling the warmth of her touch calming my nerves. The priest began the ceremony, and as he spoke, I couldn't help but steal glances at Matilda, drinking in every detail of her beauty.

"George, do you take Matilda to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part?" the priest asked, his voice steady and solemn.

"I do," I replied, my voice filled with emotion. I looked deeply into Matilda's eyes, wanting her to see the depth of my love for her.

The priest turned to Matilda. "And Matilda, do you take George to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, until death do you part?"

"I do," Matilda said, her voice unwavering as she gazed back at me with love and determination.

The priest then led us through our vows, and as we exchanged rings, I felt a surge of joy and commitment. After we pronounced our love and commitment to each other, the priest declared, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

As I leaned in to kiss Matilda, the world around us seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of us in that moment. Our lips met, sealing our vows with a promise of love and unity. The church erupted in applause and cheers as we turned to face our loved ones, now united as one.

As I raised my head, I realized I was inside a cell. The sight of marks on my arms and the lingering smell of burnt hair in my nostrils confirmed the disturbing reality of my situation. Gradually, my hearing returned, and the piercing sound of an alarm demanded my attention.

Confusion clouded my mind as I grappled with the disorienting effects of my blackout. Attempting to rise, I faltered and collapsed to my knees, the pain of recent torture searing through my body, causing me to retch uncontrollably.

Crawling toward the cell door, I noticed a disconcerting red light flashing on and off, accompanied by ominous streaks of blood on the floor. Summoning all my strength, I managed to stand, bracing myself against the door to peer through the small window, a sense of dreadful familiarity creeping over me as I pondered my next move.