Title: I Remember
Author: Eyes of Glass
Rating: T
Feedback: I take all ratings and reviews. Constructive criticism would be deeply appreciated.

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It has been two years, five months and three days since I felt my wrist and did not feel a pulse. If I could see a clock I might work out the hour and the minute. But there is only one clock in the undercity and it's always the wrong time.

There are so few amongst us now who truly remember the way things were. Before the plague, before Arthas and before the death tolls that numbered thousands. Most of us prefer to forget and many simply do not recall. The plague having taken to heavy a toll on their twisted minds. But some of us remember. I am one of them.

I remember feeling something other than the cold and dank depths of the shadow that clings to us. I remember feeling the sun shine on my face and the wind in my hair and feeling breath, breath in my body. If I try I can remember running through fields of wheat as a small child and the memory warms me. I dare not invasion it when I walk past the royal chambers, for fear Our Dark lady may hear with her banshee ears.

But when I am alone in the furthest corners of the Undercity, I dare close my eyes and imagine I am in that cornfield. I know I was wearing a dress but I cannot remember whether it was red or blue. Sometimes I choose between the two and paint my memories whatever colour I wish them to be.

I remember feeling emotion. Real emotion, not the feeling of anger at something you don't know and fear for something you can't see. I remember feeling love. Though I cannot recollect who for. In a way, I do not want to.

When the lights dim in this desolate place I can find small solace by walking above ground. I do so conspicuously. The Undercity is infested with spies, skulking in the shadows and invisible to other eyes. Sometimes, on the rarest of rare occasions I sneak away through the sewer entrance to the Undercity and run to the very borders of the rotted land and step briefly into the Silverpine forest.

The feeling of life around me, uncorrupted and untainted life gives me the smallest feeling of freedom in this undead body. The song of the birds, high above in the grey treetops gives me the smallest sense of serenity. In my more poetic moments I imagine I am a bird, singing in the treetops for no reason other than it brings me joy. To be free and pure.

There are not a great many people in the Undercity who will admit to remembering their past life. I am not among them. I do not dare. There are others who state quickly they remember nothing, nothing and I know them to be liars. I am not a liar, but I dare not tell the truth. Sometimes I dare not think it unless I am truly alone in the sewer labyrinth that is now my home.

Even the smallest of birds could not fly down here. Even the bravest would not sing.

Despite the memories I have in this dreary place. One particular memory escapes me. One that many would think the easiest to know. But the fact remains, I cannot remember my name.

I fancy it was something beginning with S and perhaps ending in A or an E. I cannot recall but in a way, once again, I do not want to. It is the last link I have. The one detail I dare not consider. That is one thing that belongs in my past life. My untainted life. I will not sully it by bringing it into this one.

Through the long days and nights of the rotten glades which were once bright and pure, I will walk through the sewers of a city that was once Lordaeron but is now a mass of ruins and broken memories. In the rare moments I will escape the forests of Silverpine and in my heart I wish to travel further and see greener tress and more life but in dare not.

For in this city, even the smallest bird cannot take flight and only those with the quiet voices dare to sing.

This was a short story that came to mind after running through the undercity for a few hours. I was also inspired slightly by the book 1984 by George Orwell. I hope it was enjoyable to read if slightly depressing.

~Eyes