I thought I would share a taste of my main character’s struggle. She processes through what she’s done and her frustration of not remembering with clarity, mainly by keeping a journal. Her tumultuous thoughts pour forth in first person as each chapter starts until the timelines meet, and they both accelerate past the “event.”
Amnesia does sound like a convenient excuse when it comes to her delay in exposing her deed, but the more I read real testimonies of those that have actually played a role in an accidental death, the more fitting it seemed. Many people either remember very little of the incident or remember every detail. For Ruby Moon, the first scenario fit Jenay’s circumstances best.
Jenay battles with an overwhelming sense of guilt. The fact that she cannot remember clearly why she feels that way only heightens that emotion in her. Keeping a journal helps Jenay sort through her troubled mind. The more she writes, the clearer things become. I have found that to be so in my own life, present and past. These are a few excerpts from her journal.
July 1, 1894
The wind whistles in my ears. It is the call of freedom. Freedom from this ghoulish life of dreams. I sit on the veranda and jot down my thoughts as the sun sets. I cannot even seem to write more than a paragraph or two for my mind is so boggled by my nightly visitations. I dread the darkness and going to sleep for fear of the images I will see and the things that I will do. This secret life is making my heart bleed.
Why have I not told those I trust? Why have I thought holding this pain child within was wise. Ultimately, truth heals and secrets hurt.
Where do I go from here? What do I say? What do I do? QUESTIONS! Always questions. Who will answer them?
July 3rd, 1894
It is getting harder to pretend to be fine. I am not fine. I am . . . . What am I? It is hard to define. I am sad. I feel guilty. There is that word again. It might as well be etched in my forehead for all to see.
I do know one thing, this cannot go on for much longer or I will be crushed under the weight of it. It . . . this secret deed is making me die a little each day. Something has to change. Something has to give, or I fear I will go insane. My resolve? My pride? I bear a sense of guilt for what I’ve done and also that I am not strong enough to rid myself of this mantle on my own.
Now and again I’ll post more about Jenay, but without revealing too much. I don’ t want to spoil the story for you, just wet your appetite.