#2—Memory
I can remember little of my childhood now; this is not something I regret. My childhood is the person I once was. I chose to leave him behind. I no longer need any memory of him. Yet there are a few things I retain, and why this is I do not know and little care.
No…that's wrong. I understand why I have not forgotten the oil spill. It created me, that is to say, shaped me into who I am. Dragonite's very existence serves as a reminder of it. But would if I could be rid of that memory. The image of that pitiful creature, poisoned, dying slowly, has burned itself into my mind like a brand. Even saying he had been left to die was too kind—no human had even bothered to notice his presence. Certainly none would have cared if they had seen him.
Perhaps we have something in common; we can never return to where we came from, for there is no one in the world we can return to. Doubtless Dragonite's family and loved ones are all dead by now (perhaps at the hands of humans—one never knows), and I never had anyone. I never cared much for my mother. Poor woman had no idea she was causing more hinder than help.
Also I remember the spring in my hometown. It was truly beautiful that time of year, when the trees began to show their blossoms and the sun returned from its long, wintry exile. I have never been the sentimental sort, but this season clings to me somehow; perhaps this is because when the life renews itself in spring, it remains untouched for a time, however short. Then the humans taint it once again, and we are back where we began.
…Dwelling on the past is useless. I have made a commitment to the present, the future. They are where my task lies. It is a difficult task, and a dangerous one, but it must be done. No one else is courageous enough to do it. Or mad enough, many have said, but I do not care. Mad or otherwise, my task is who I am. Who I have become.