Alright, here's a type of prologue to an idea for a story I've had. Sorry's it's kind of long!

Mother’s first customer for the day had sneaked in through the back door. I watched him arrive in a sleek black car, glancing around furtively as he stepped out and made his way to our house. I settled myself in my favourite hiding place, straining to hear the consultation.

“Get it out,” he ordered, his words clipped. Mother replied softly, the words muffled through the door.

“I don’t care if it’s risky. Would I be here if I hadn’t thought this through, woman?” he snapped. I crept closer, leaning as closely as I dared to the thin sliver of light shining through the door.

I heard mother answer softly. “Very well, sir.”

A brief silence reigned, and was broken by an ear-splitting roar from the man, and the violent sound of implements being thrown against the walls.

“I asked you to remove it, not be reminded of every detail!” he screamed. “What use is your dirty magic if it can't even do this?”

I stood frozen, too afraid to venture inside to help mother. I had a mere second’s warning of the man’s heavy footsteps – I scuttled out of the way as he whipped past me, back into the night.

Mother stared after him. I tried to sneak away, but soon felt strong fingers clutching my shirt.

“Spying again, Isia?” mother said, shaking me. I wriggled free of her grip.

“Who is that man?” I asked before I could stop myself, peering out of the window. He was still out there, leaning against his car.

“Nobody you need to concern yourself with,” she said sourly, pushing me away from the window. “Go clean yourself up, dad will be here for dinner."

She left me then, muttering to herself as she made her way to the kitchen. I turned back to look for the man. He was still there, but had started fumbling with his keys. I made up my mind as I slipped quietly out of the front door.

Mother was old, and hadn’t practiced for days. I, on the other hand, seldom did anything but practice.

“Sir?” I said softly. He jumped slightly, and scowled at me.

“Can I try?” I said, before he had a chance to shout at me, too.

“Try what?” he said impatiently. Of course, he didn’t know who I was. The memory was still burning him – I could almost feel it. I clenched my fists, eager as I was to touch him and feel it for myself.

“Removing it,” I told him. “I’m Isia. Lucia’s son.”

He gave an ugly snort of laughter. “You can’t be a day older than ten, kid. Even the supposedly best practitioner of your kind couldn’t do anything. Mind me, boy – forget what she taught you. The best thing for this world would be if your magic had a quick death.”

I had crept closer to him as he spoke. I could barely hear his words. When he had mentioned my mother, the memory had spiked. I could taste it now. It had a bitter, dark flavour – he must want it removed quite badly.

“Wha -ˮ he said, startled, as I grasped his arm. The memory infused his being. I shuddered as I grabbed hold of it. A kaleidoscope of colour, sound and emotion washed over me. A woman screamed, a tortuous whine that grated against my ears. The copper taste of blood was strong in my mouth. I began pushing against the sensations, ecstatic at washing it all away.

It might have been days later when my mother shook me awake. Her eyes were wild.

“Isia?” she whispered. She was crying – the sight frightened me awake. “Oh, my son.”

I sat up. The night air was cold on my skin – someone had removed my jacket. I glimpsed it then in mother’s hands. Instinctively, I glanced at my arms. I could see the marks where she had gripped me.

“I fainted,” I said, shaking my head. My own memory was sketchy – the man, his dark secret. So strong, the worst I had ever seen and held in my hands.

“What made you try it?” she said, still weeping silently. "Haven't you listened to anything I've ever told you?"

“Did it work?” I said finally. I couldn’t remember anything beyond the screams, the taste of blood, and other dark fragments of memory that made my stomach twist. The man himself was gone, though his car was still in the driveway.

Mother hauled me roughly to my feet and gave me a stinging slap across the face. “Come see for yourself,” she said, dragging me inside the house.

The man’s limp form lay on the kitchen table. I edged closer, trying in vain to remember what had happened. His eyes were open but unfocused. I felt a chill – he was empty of memory.

“You wiped it all,” mother said, sinking into her armchair next to the table. “He's a husk. You asked who he was? He's the mayor. And you've killed him. Killed him, or the most important part of him."

She rocked with her grief, but I felt miles away from the reality of the situation. I was still thinking of the blood and the screams, feeling it unfurl and dig deeper into me.