Creepy - I'm Living My Life Backwards

Episode Date: June 26, 2020

Day by day...***Written by Richard Saxon and narrated by Mike Dent***Check out our reward tiers at patreon.com/creepypod***You can also subscribe to us on YouTube:https://www.youtube.com/creepypod***Music by Steve Blizin***Title music by Alex Aldea***Intro/Outro Narration by Joe Stofko Hosted on Acast. See acast.com/privacy for more information. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

This is the bloody disgusting podcast network. No. This is creepy. A podcast dedicated to sharing the most famous chilling and disturbing creepy pastas and urban legends in the world. Whether these stories truly happened or are simply fabrications is for you to decide. These stories may contain. graphic depictions of violence and explicit language. Listener discretion is advised.

Creepy presents. I'm living my life backwards. Written by Richard Saxon and narrated by Mike Dent. Tomorrow is the day my wife dies. It won't be an expected death nor is it one that she deserves. What will happen is a simple, random act with no meaning beyond fate's command. We'll be out walking, holding hands as we're heading home from a long day at work. Once we get to a crosswalk, her phone will ring.

It's her mother, calling to tell us that her cancer has returned once more. It doesn't come as a shock. She'd been in remission for a couple of years, but her body had been ravaged by the previous round of chemo and radiation. The words wear heavy. on my Lucy, and I see the tears well up in her eyes. She tries to stay strong in front of me, pretending she can handle the moment she's been preparing for.

Then she starts to approach the crosswalk. What she doesn't notice is that during our brief pause, the light has turned red. As she takes her first step onto the crosswalk, she gets hit by a car and smashes her head to the ground. She dies on impact, and the paramedics can do nothing. to help. In less than a second, everything she ever was will be taken away from me. And I

have to watch it happen. I'm so sorry, Lucy. Her death is a fact that I've known since we first met as young children, yet I can do nothing to prevent her untimely demise, no matter how bad I want to. She made me promise, swear never to tell her the inevitable truths of the future. Even had I tried to do so, it wouldn't have mattered. We weren't meant to know the end. That's what makes life beautiful, she said. But they're just words written down in a book. A reassuring lie I don't remember.

That'll be it, the last memory I have of my wife alive. Once her body has been buried, and once I've moved away to another city, I'll forget she ever existed. All I'll be left with is a hole in my heart. I won't be able to fill until the day I finally die, because that is my curse. To remember everything from my own future, but nothing of the past. To the best of my knowledge, I've always been this way.

From the very first step I took as a toddler and from the first word spoken, I was given every single memory from my entire life, even though I hadn't yet experienced them. In return, they vanish from my mind once. I experienced them. In the most bizarre way, I'm living my life backwards. I am burdened with the knowledge of tomorrow, knowing fully well I can do nothing to alter the oncoming passage of time. Thus, at the ripe old age of 35, I have forgotten every single factual detail about my life.

And once these words have been put down on paper, they'll be gone too. washed away by a fractured mind. But before we continue my story, let me answer a few questions, such as how can I write if I forget ever learning it? How can I walk? How can I even have relationships with other people if their details allude me day by day? To the first two, I'll answer this.

Do you remember your first steps? The act of learning how to stand on two feet? Or is it simply something you know how to do? a skill ingrained into your very being. Do you even need to think before speaking, or do words just flow out with only its context processed? Love, on the other hand, is an emotion that transcends memory. It's so deeply buried in our hearts that there have been cases of total amnesia,

ridding the person of everything, save the love they hold within. Memory and skill don't necessarily go together. Some abilities are, ingrained in our muscles in our subconscious mind. That's why I still miss my mother, even though I remember nothing about her. And it's why I still love my wife on her last night of life. My curse is more like reverse amnesia. And the stories I have to tell are simply words read from a notebook.

Each day I awake to read events from a time I cannot remember. The handwriting doesn't even belong to myself. but to two distinct people. The first set of stories, spanning from my childhood to my mid-twenties, were written by my mother. She was a brilliant person, quick to action and smart as all hell. She noticed something was off about me at a very young age, once I started predicting things that hadn't yet come to pass. The first incident occurred when I was five years old.

It was such an innocuous, dumb complaint. I didn't want to go outside because of the storm. I was afraid the lightning would hit us during the people. picnic we planned. My mother was naturally confused, as the trip had been scheduled for the next day, and the weather report had confidently stated that the day would be filled with nothing but sunshine. Then, as the next morning arrived, my mother was shocked to see that my predictions had come true. Baffled, but still skeptic, she wrote it down in her own diary as little more than an oddity. Just a year later, my mother had found me crying in my room. I was distraught because our

cat had died. She sat down and started to comfort me. Sure, our pet was of advancing age, but he still remained healthy, as curious as ever. In the middle of my frantic cries, the cat just walked in, checking what the commotion was all about. A month later, he passed peacefully in his sleep, a good old cat who lived a great life. As I grew older, I quickly learned to separate past from future. My mother had already put two and two together, and she had been a little. And she knew my life would be a complicated one, full of challenges. Because of that fact, I had difficulty making friends. Back then, my wife Lucy lived next door, and even she figured out something was weird about me. To her young mind, it seemed more of a superpower than a curse, and she eagerly

promised to help keep my secret. Whether my ability was a gift or a curse, my mother never loved me any less. Instead, she took it upon herself to write down whatever moments we shared. That way my life, though not remembered, would never be forgotten. She did her best to make my life manageable. But despite her best efforts, it was a painful journey, not just for myself, but for those who loved me. Of course, she never blamed me. After all, it wasn't my fault. But, as all people eventually do, my mother passed away.

It's something I can't correctly recall. but the emotion connected to the event lingers firmly in my heart. It was my 22nd birthday, and we'd booked a table at a decently fancy restaurant. Whether the food was good or bad, I can't remember. All I know is that on that day in particular, it was raining. On the slippery roads, my mother was supposed to drive. As she turned a foggy corner, she was hit by a drunk driver who didn't react in time to stop. She died then.

On my birthday. and I couldn't accept it, so I did something horrible and changed it. That's the day I learned the true curse of my condition. I did everything I could to convince my mother not to go. I begged you to stay at home, threatened that I wouldn't show up to my own birthday if she as much as set foot outside the house. Thanks to my tantrum, my mother agreed to stay home. She was smart enough to know something terrible was about to have.

happen and didn't press the matter further. We spent the evening watching a movie. Mindless fun for someone unable to remember the plot, but I was ecstatic nonetheless. I thought I had changed the course of history. My mother never left the house, and as a result, she was never hit by the drunk driver. But that's the thing about fate. There's nothing that can stop it. In the end, my efforts were fruitless, because she was supposed to die. That night, her soul, spirit, essence, whatever the hell you want to call it, vanished. Her time had come, and though I had hindered the death of her physical body, she was taken away from me. It wasn't until the next morning before I noticed something was wrong. I found her sitting at the end of her bed, unresponsive and catatonic. None of the doctors could explain

and as all of her vitals appeared fine. Despite being physically healthy, she was just gone. I learned that day that I cannot save anyone who falls victim to the cruel judgment of destiny. In the end, whenever I tried, it only made things worse. The worst part is that since I never actually experienced her death as it was supposed to happen, it's the only memory of my past I still remember, though it doesn't match up with reality. In my mind, she was hit by the drunk driver,

but according to every available document, she spent her final years in a coma, only dying once her body finally gave out. By the time of my mother's death, my girlfriend had known about my curse for years, and took it upon herself to take over the task of recording my life. Each event, important or minor, was jotted down into the same notebook

that my mother had carried around for sure. many years. To this day, I don't know what I've done to deserve such an amazing woman. Despite my complicated life, she still loved me. It was odd though. As she got to know me, I was starting to forget her. I guess it helped, having grown up side by side with my secret. That's the only way she could possibly understand to see beyond it, to who I truly am.

Even then, as we first met, I knew. knew we'd end up married one day. Of course I did. I had every single memory stored in my mind. Maybe the fact allowed me to act more confident than I truly was. Or maybe Destiny played a hand in our pairing. I don't know. But by the time we entered an age where crushes became an acceptable fact,

we quickly started dating. Together we shared all of our firsts. Though I don't remember any of them. I can recall the feelings connected to each event. I love her with all of my heart, despite losing some of the memories I have of her for each passing day, which brings us to the present day. Tonight we won't be able to sleep. She won't know why, but something will irk her mind. Instead, we'll stay up late, talking, and reminiscing about times long since past, I won't crack, I won't cry, and I won't let her know what's about to happen.

She'll just write her final entry into my book, and then we'll fall asleep in each other's arms. I can't prevent her death, lest I want her to suffer the same fate as my mother, and once she's gone, there will be none left to continue my story. Each day will pass as it always has, and I'll forget it. Dume to wander this world alone. I can do nothing, save wait for my eventual death. That's why I'm writing this now, as my wife's son. sleeps beside me. I need the world to know what I can't. I need someone to remember my story,

to remember that I once walk this path. I don't regret my life, because despite all odds, it was a happy one. It was filled with love. And despite my memory being lost, I know there will be a trace of my presence, rippling through time itself. Life is not a certainty. Don't treat it like tomorrow is a given. It might never come. For more information, including pictures and videos of the stories told on this podcast, or to suggest stories for future episodes, please visit us. At Creepypod on Twitter, Instagram.

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