Revised 2/22/2024. Originally written 3/30/2015.
How did this happen? Why can I not remember?
I stand, facing a village, the searing heat radiating from the burning buildings pricking at my exposed skin. Fire rises through the billowing smoke, the wind carrying the scent of charred wood and flesh. Sweat forms on my brow, my tunic heating as it presses against me, growing sticky as it clings. Was it melting? Or was I melting? Endless questions spring to life in my head, and the one that keeps returning: How did this happen?
Looking at the houses, it seems as though the fire wasn’t the only tragedy to strike. It looks like whatever, or whoever, caused this destruction used the fire to cover its traces. But what makes me think the fire wasn’t alone in this devastation? Houses that seem to be the fresh victims of the flames have their glass windows shattered along the avenue. Fire can’t shatter glass from such a distance, right? Possibly an explosion? I don’t know how this happened. I can’t remember why it happened.
How did I get here? Huh. That question can have multiple answers, I guess. How did I get here… to my current situation? In life, overall? The major problem being I can’t answer either.
My eyes scan the ground in utter hopelessness, as if hoping the answers to be written into the gravel path. I squint, noticing the dangling limbs at my side to appear out of the ordinary. My hands… I hold them up to examine them. Why do I have small holes in my hands? And it doesn’t end there, in my arms and a slightly larger hole where my arm is meant to bend.
What can I remember? I, I… just remember sitting there. They, the people surrounding me, were all fine. And I was just sitting there. I recall a faint image of the people looking at me, smiling. I strain to think, but I can’t recall anything but that image. Not even memories, which would have been my only possession to survive the fire. Though I can’t remember why, I know my home was in this village. If I grieve over the loss of the village that could only mean it had some sentimental value to me. Or maybe the destruction and devastation is what grieves me despite not knowing where I am. Perhaps my grief is suppressed frustration at myself for not remembering… Why can’t I remember? It’s something so simple, memory, and yet causes me so much pain and –
Ugh. I fall to the ground, on hands and knees, I’m choking. The fluid flows from my mouth. Blood. I close my eyes and turn my head from the sight. Anoth jolting sensation and I open my eyes to see that my left hand is bleeding from the holes. My eyes follow the holes up my arms, and I see a stream of blood flowing from me. My vision grows blurry, but not before I see drops of blood falling to the ground. I bring my right hand to my eyes to rub away the cause for the blurriness. I feel the liquid spread across my face as I drag my hand away from my eye. My right hand is covered in blood… I’m crying blood. Now I’ll never kn-
I hear the sound of my breathing before I open my eyes. I lay in the middle of a dim room of blue luminescence. Posters of anatomy and other medical dealings line the walls. As my vision comes into focus, I notice jars and flasks containing strange conglomerations of proteins and other lipids. An assortment of medical equipment lies on a cart near to my bedside.
I look at my arms. Wires and tubing poke into me from the holes created in my skin. I can see the dark fluids being pumped into my veins and feel an alternating electric current circulating my body. I see burn marks along my arm. My chest rises as I inhale. The smell of this room, seems… reminiscent of, of… I can’t remember.
I feel an electric pulse stronger than the others I’ve experienced since my awakening. My eyes close tightly and my teeth grit in the struggle to maintain consciousness. Could the electricity have caused the burn marks on my arms? There are pieces I’m missing. This environment I’ve appeared in seems hostile; it’s not in equilibrium. It’s as if someone has disturbed a precious cycle.
I don’t truly understand how I can feel and sense so much when I can’t recall any memories from before I awoke. It’s as if my brain can’t retain personal experiences but feeds my thought with universal knowledge. There is no reasoning for how I feel; it’s simply my intuition. Instinct. An instinct that tells me something is awry. I can continue my attempt to deduce my situation, but, much like one can’t finish a puzzle without all of the pieces, I need more information before I can do anything. My vision begins to blur as something fills my eyes (I feel like I’ve felt this way before…) and I clench my fists. These must be tears. My frustration has liquefied and is now escaping my body. I feel so weak, physically… mentally.
I see a figure enter, rapidly run out of the room, and seem to multiply as more figures return. They surround me, smile at one another, and offer up hugs in a celebratory fashion. Among their joyous clamor, I hear the words “abiogenesis” and “success” repeatedly used. They don’t look at me as their equal, but as a project. A laboratory rat, an experiment.
Where am I? Who are these people? They look oddly familiar, but I can’t remember why.
I can’t remember anything. How did this happen? Why can I not remember?
I just remember sitting there.
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