Word: desiderium

    

desiderium

\ des-i-DEER-ee-uhm \  , noun;

1. an ardent longing, as for something lost.

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            Collin groaned in pain.  He wasn’t sure if it was real or just imagined though.  It was hard to tell with all that was going through his mind at the moment.  There was too much going on in there.  The memories flooding his mind were coming like a river held back by a dam that had burst.  He needed relief.

                “Please.”  He croaked out.  “Just a little.  I need it.”  He extended a trembling, sweat soaked hand to the two other people in the room. 

                “I’m sorry, Collin.  But I can’t give you any.”  Said a lean, slight woman named Janet.  She looked at Collin’s writhing form on the sweat soaked bed with concern that he wasn’t sure was real or not.  He also knew he didn’t care.

                “You have to.  I need it, this is too much.  Just a little.  A little Forgetful.  I-it’ll help me get through this.”  He said hopefully.

                “Hey, maybe we should.”  Said the other person, a young man called Will.  “I mean, he looks pretty bad.  A little can’t hurt.”

                Collin’s hearing became fuzzy and his vision blurred.  The memories were starting to overwhelm his senses as well as his mind.

                “It can hurt more than you know.”  Janet said.  “You know what that horrible stuff does to a person.  If we give him any, even a little, it’ll undo everything we’re trying to do.”

                Collin felt like the air his lungs were taking in wasn’t doing his body any good.  His breaths felt empty to him, and so he started breathing faster in an effort to grasp any amount of air. 

                “I just can’t sit here.”  Will said, “I mean, look at him.  He’s in a bad way.  It’ll be like taking a sip of liquor to deal with a hangover, won’t it?”

                “It’s nothing like that.  First of all, there’s nothing safe or healthy about that practice to begin with.  Also, Forgetful is nothing like beer.  Giving his some will hurt him more in the long run.  It’ll take away some of the memories he’s already regained, meaning this process will only last longer.”

                “But…”  Will said.

                “But nothing.”  Janet replied firmly. “The only thing we can do for him is be there and help him deal with everything he’s going through.  Once he gets past these initial hours, his condition will improve greatly.  Trust me, this is not the first time I’ve done this.”

                All Will could do was nod and sit quietly while his friend suffered through all the stifled memories returned to him at once.  Collin didn’t know what to do.  He wanted to scream out due to the pain, both mental and physical, but something kept him from doing that.  Instead he rolled over on the damp bed and let out a pitiful whine. 

                “It should be starting soon.” Janet said as she looked at Collin’s actions intently.  Collin almost didn’t hear her speak.  It was like every external sound had been driven into the background of a stage.

                “What?” Will asked.

                “The last part of Forgetful withdrawal.”

                Collin thought he was coherent enough to ask, so he opened his mouth to ask what that meant.  Then it started and he no longer needed to.  The memories didn’t just return, they made themselves known in full force.  At first, he was just recalling many, many things at once.  But now it was like watching a movie in his own mind.  Dozens of memories showed themselves all at once, each one just as vivid as the day he had actually lived them.

                He remembered the wife that he couldn’t afford to take care of, no matter how badly her ailing body needed it.  He remembered the daughter who he could have saved if he had been paying attention.  The job he used to have.  The friends he used to spend time with.  He remembered everything he drug had taken away, both the good and the bad.  And he even remembered the first time he had taken it.  The very first time he had taken the viscous purple liquid that forced random memories so deep into his subconscious that even his dreams couldn’t reach them. 

                Everything the drug had taken away came back at once.  A storm of images, sounds, tastes, and smells threatened to overpower his frayed psyche.  His body locked up, his mouth open in a silent scream.  Finally, it died down.  The memories stopped coming and instead settled down into their original place in his mind.  And then he remembered one more thing.  Why he had taken Forgetful in the first place.  Tears welled up in his eyes as he remembered the life that had been forced from him, both from his own actions and those forces beyond his control. 

                He curled up into a tight ball and grasped at the sweat soaked sheets.  His vision was still blurred, but now it was his own tears that did the job instead of the remnants of the drug.  They flowed down his cheeks as the desperate longing for the life he used to have hit him full force.  He had taken the drug in order to forget all that, but now it was with him again.  Only now, there would be no blissful ignorance for him.  No more forgetting.  Now, he could only try and cope with everything he had lost.  The slender hand gently placed on his shoulder would see to that.        

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A bit heavier than I normally go, but that's not a bad thing.  At least, I hope not.  I mean, I've done more serious stories before, so it's not like this is the first time.  I just hope you all like it.  Also, I've said it before and no doubt I'll be saying again, but I LOVE the ability to make stuff up that fiction grants.  I've never gone through any kind of drug withdrawal (since, you know, I don't take any), and yet, I can right about it, and have it turn out (hopefully) good. It's great stuff.