Restaurant Memories

In my opinion, food should have been the last thing on our minds. For what felt like hours, we wandered aimlessly down the road in bitter silence. The cold night air was beginning to bite at my fingers and my exposed arms. We should have been looking for shelter from the moment we left the safe house in ruins. However, all of us were becoming weary and tired without knowing our next move—and all three of us were starving.

Sitting by the edge of the road, the hoard of zombies long behind us, I listened to my siblings' conversation over the rumble of my empty stomach.

"I remember there being a small village not far from here," Sacha said. "It's the place we used to go with our parents after school for that lush restaurant. Do you remember?" His leg bounced up and down as a glint of that all too familiar madness shone in his eyes.

I couldn't help leaning away slightly. If I needed to run away from them, I would make a break for the trees if I had to.

For the first time since they escaped, something human flickered across Danika's face as she glanced sidelong at him. "I try not to." Her bottom lip wobbled slightly, but she bit down on it when she noticed my stare.

Quickly, I bowed my head, my eyes fixed on the ground as I resumed listening. I felt like I was intruding on something. What I was intruding on, though, I wasn't sure.

"Well, what if it's still there?" Sacha laughed, clapping his hand over his mouth. I wondered whether it was because of his excitement or to muffle the sound in case any zombies were nearby.

I glanced up from beneath my lashes, making sure to keep my head down so they wouldn't think I was paying attention to them—not that there was much else to do in the middle of nowhere.

Danika rose an eyebrow, a playful smirk pulling at her lips. "The village or the restaurant?"

It was Sacha's turn to nudge her. Instead of complaining as Sacha did in the safe house, Danika burst out laughing. It echoed through the trees, engulfing the night and the endless road both ways. Her laugh was hauntingly light, soft, and distant, like how I would imagine a ghost sounding.

"Sure, why not?" she finally agreed after calming down.

Sacha helped her up. I slowly followed their lead, hanging back a few paces whilst they guided the way towards the village. We must have been walking for ten minutes, and then the forest blocking either side of the road gave way to houses and the retail area. Sat in the middle of all the shops was the restaurant Sacha reminded us about.

Carefully, we crept towards it, making sure not to make too much noise. When the coast seemed clear, we picked up our pace so we could get to the doors quicker before anyone saw us—human or zombie alike. Sacha was there first, opening one of the doors and ushering us in before stepping inside himself.

There was no one in the restaurant. It was completely devoid of customers, zombies, or potential people we would need to fend off. Tables and chairs were turned over with smashed glass littering the floor, but there were no signs of anything else. The place was ours.

"Good," Danika said, spinning on her heel. "We won't need to kill anyone."

I rolled my eyes for what felt like the hundredth time today. "What is it with you two and murdering innocent people?"

Sacha leapt over the counter and moved towards the kitchen. "They weren't innocent people."

"They would have killed us if we hadn't killed them," Danika said offhandedly before waving me over to one of the many turned-over tables. "Help me with this thing, will you?"

Ignoring her previous comment, I wandered over to help her. My fingers grazed the wood and my mind slipped away down the rabbit hole until I landed in the restaurant, my Converse hitting the floor. I was disoriented for a moment, allowing myself to readjust from being stretched and transported elsewhere.

The clinking of cutlery and soft jazz music flooded my ears. Waiters whizzed past me, some almost bumping into me as they floated in a haze of blinding amber light. Everything was moving like liquid pouring from a glass, including all the customers from years ago. My blonde hair whipped around me as I tried to fathom it.

My frantic gaze settled on a round table where five people sat—three children and two adults. I'd recognise the stern, gaunt face of my father any day. The prim and poised woman next to him was our mother. Their food was already on the table, and the smell of an assortment of roasted meat and boiled vegetables had my mouth watering.

Slowly, I took a reluctant step towards them.

Danika, Sacha and I—or younger versions of ourselves, at least—ate our food silently, all of us taking tiny bites as we listened. I remember having to listen to our father. He despised being interrupted, even during one of his better temperaments. Anyway, dear old father was not one to shy away from making a scene in public if it meant he would be respected by his timid children.

"Another fight at school," he began the next part of the conversation, aiming his glare at Sacha and Danika. They bowed their heads, reluctantly chewing their food and finding their plates filled with food equally as interesting. "Slipping grades." He turned to the nine-year-old version of me sitting at the table.

I cowered under his gaze. I remembered the bile that rose up my throat, spoiling the gravy and savoury pudding I always loved to eat. The once-sweet taste turned to ash in my mouth. It took everything in me not to spit it out back then.

I circled the table, the food there and my grumbling stomach too much to take. I picked at some of the food off my plate. It was just a very small piece that no one would notice was missing.

As soon as the piece of meat lathered in gravy and cranberry sauce touched my tongue, an eruption of flavour burst through my mouth. I could no longer care less about being inside one of my memories. All I needed was more of the mixture of foods running down my throat. Someone would think I hadn't eaten in days.

"You are all such disappointments," he carried on, though I stopped listening.

I glanced at Sacha and Danika, both two years my senior. At this point, they were eleven years old, two years away from committing one of the most heinous crimes to ever be reported. Looking at them knowing what they were capable of, I couldn't understand it. They were two normal children who feared their parents' wrath.

"Imogen," Danika's voice broke through the memory. "Imogen, can you hear me?" her voice was frantic as it echoed distantly.

I took another piece of food from my plate, savouring the taste of the assortment for a moment longer.

"Imogen!" Danika yelled, her voice breaking.

My eyes opened. 

Word Count = 1195