he doesn't remember his own name

but there's another voice in his head



and he thinks he knows her

and the sweets she likes to eat and he likes to make



he might be named after a wind.

he isn't sure.

voice

sweets

the fairytales he remembers

the quiet

cooking, mainly sweets

the pain of trying to remember

healthy food

the villans in those fairytales

loud noises that startle him

crowds that push and yell


waking up

the world is cruel. at the same time, it's beautiful.

the jagged rocks he trips over, with their coats of algae and the dangerous edges, are the only kind of ground he'll have for miles. that's how far the water will go, and he's only grateful for the momentary lapse in swimming and floating. he still has a ways to go to get back to her, across the sea and across plains of land that will etch on for even more miles. it'll be worth it, though, if he sees a smile and she calls him stupid. he'll be covered in filth and smelling terribly by then, he'll bet, and she won't hug him, but he just needs a smile and to hear the voice that had been haunting him since he heard the rumor. rumors were called rumors for a reason, though, so he didn't believe a word. he knew he'll get there and she'll also be there and that's all. as he prepares to go back to swimming, he also decides he's grateful for one other thing. he's glad he's a good swimmer.

he wakes up and it's a dream. he's in a bed, the sheets are entangled around him and he's soaked in his own sweat. he doesn't know who the girl he was trying to get to was and he doesn't know where he is or what his name is. he searches his head for memories and he comes up blank. the only thing he can rememer is a sentence, a fragment that echoes in a male voice that he doesn't believe is his, though it's not like he knows his own voice anyway.

it's fear that keeps you alive.

he doesn't know who the voice belongs to, but it's familiar.

don't forget.

he looks up at the white ceiling as if that contained an answer.


what he thinks

once he gets up and has a look around, he thinks he's in a house.

the first thing he goes for is the mirror since in some part of his head he thinks that as soon as he ses himself he'll remember everything.

it doesn't really work.

the boy in the mirror was an age that the real life him couldn't tell.

clearly he didn't take very good care of himself, if his skin was gray and his teeth nearly yellow.

his eyes were a nice blue, though, and his hair was long. don't i cut it? he wonders.

he wanders away from the mirror that held none of the answers he seeks. he finds himself tired from doing absolutely nothing at all, however, and flops back into the bed and falls back into sleep.

he dreams of a girl and her bright shining blue eyes and he wonders if he knows her in real life.

she's calling to him, and he can't make out what she's saying, but it feels important so he strains to make it out. he can't though, and he wants to cry and apologize as he watches the face he doesn't remember fall and catches sight of the tears that blur her eyes. when he tries, he realizes he can't open his mouth, as if it was glued shut.


the girl


bullets @ details


css @ Itzel.




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