The Stargazer’S Scrapbook

By Esther Lac

If you could tamper with your memories and rewrite them in your favour, would you? Its actually a rather easy thing to do.
Memories arent made purely from our interactions in the physical world. When we muse with our imaginations, were creating memories, too. When reality and fantasy intermixes over time, how can you draw the line between whats real and what isnt?
In her early years, Lisanna Spring was raised by her grandmother, a memory collector who loved to tell stories with impeccable vividness to anyone who would care to listen. Often times it would be to an audience of one; Lisanna. When Lisannas grandma lost in a fight with Alzheimers disease and was forced to trade her beloved babysitting role for an ironic bedridden ending, she leaves behind a beautiful scrapbook as a memento for her granddaughter. After a period of hysterical denial, Lisanna discovers the dying wish her grandma had left for her in the scrapbook and intends to fulfill it by becoming a collector of more than just memories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781499029215

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Copyright © 2014 by Esther Lac.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 05/28/2014

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CONTENTS

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter One

E verything was black around me and I couldn’t see or feel a

thing. It was as if I was stuck in a state between waking and

dreaming. This all felt like part of an elaborate nightmare. Perhaps I only saw black because my eyes were closed. That’s right; I’m thinking too much to be dreaming. I just needed to open them.

Lisanna, don’t fall behind or you’ll get lost. My dad warned. I blinked twice, gathering where I was now. I had just been carried out of the car and until a moment ago, my mom was holding my hand and leading me along. When did she let go?

I followed them as we trailed down narrow white hallways. Our long trek through the building was tumultuous and never-ending. Sometimes we turned left, sometimes we turned right. When we first walked in, I made it my little game to guess which direction we’d go, but the lack of pattern in their choices, and sudden changes of heart, bested me at my own game. I gave up and decided to scurry behind them, sometimes shifting my focus to the tiles on the ceiling. Everything was so white, there had to be at least one square that defied the tiling convention of this building, but even I had lost the will to keep looking. Now facing forward, I gently massaged my neck the same way I always saw my dad do. Certainly I’ve had longer and much more tiresome journeys before, but not one quite so mysterious. Our final destination was being withheld from me, and despite my curiosity, I could not bring myself to ask why.

Lisanna, don’t drag your feet when you walk. My dad scolded the moment he turned to check on me. I glanced behind and noticed the faint grey scars my boots left, contrasting with the bleach white of the floor. Instantly I felt a pang of guilt and stopped to rub them off with my heel one by one.

Forget that, come here. My mom grabbed my right hand and pulled me away before I could scratch off the rest of the markings. I allowed her to guide me without resistance as I watched the dirtied floor blur in the distance, eventually too far for me to see anything but white all around again.

Our sudden stop took me by surprise. The only thing that prevented me from walking straight into the door was my dad’s warm hand on top of my head. I tilted my head upwards and my dad’s unmoved palm slid to my forehead, almost as if he were checking for a fever.

Lisanna, dear, My mom breathed out as she spoke my name from beside me. We’re here to see grandma. At the sound of grandma I felt my insides stir excitedly. My mom’s face didn’t reciprocate the anticipation I felt building up inside of me, though. She wasn’t frowning, but her expression stayed dark and her gaze distant.

I hadn’t seen my grandma since she stopped looking after me as my babysitter. I was so eager to finally see her again that I never questioned why she would be in such an excessively clean and poorly decorated place. I wanted to guess that this unfamiliar place was related to a birthday surprise for me, though my birthday wasn’t for another month from tomorrow. Still, something about the sterile air convinced me otherwise.

Remember to greet her politely. Mom continued, going over her typical last minute lesson on mannerisms before letting me meet an adult. I thought nothing of it—I knew how to greet my own grandma!

There’s one more thing, Lisanna. My dad removed his hand from my head and crouched down to be eye level with me. If I didn’t know my dad’s strength and courage, I would’ve sworn I saw a tear slide down his face. It was probably just sweat. My dad never cried. I assumed that he just didn’t know how to, and he was lucky for that.

Maybe we shouldn’t tell her. She’s only five, she probably won’t notice. My mom interjected. She was holding my hand, and I could feel her warmth and sweat building as her grip tightened around my fingers. Why was she shaking?

Mom’s been babysitting her since she learned how to walk. There’s no way she won’t notice. By now she might not even remember Lisanna’s name. My dad was still crouched in front of me, but his fleeting glance