I walked through this dark... place. I don't know where or how, but I was in this... world, I guess you would call it, that was pitch black - save for all of the neon lights everywhere. And I couldn't remember anything... well, nothing about me, anyways. Only about this girl... and her name... I think it was Kira.
She had light, caramel brown hair and eyes were pools of pale pink that seemed to drown a soul. She didn't speak English, only grunts and sounds of another kind, almost animal like. She lived in a vast savanna, that was scorched by a fierce battle before. And she lived with... a pride, is what she called it. Yes, a pride. Her pride.
The Pride. I remember them, too. They weren't like Kira. They had eyes of a different color and skin of a different touch. Their hands and feet were massive, armed with claws shard as knives and their teeth... their teeth were like needles. They had a fierce composition, yet... yet they were nice to Kira. They fed her and bathed her and even watched her, as if she was their own child. As if she was one of the Pride. The leader, no, the iking/i, he took her in with his own daughter, and taught her how to hunt and watch over the Pride Land. She was his youngest, and he was her father. The Pride, well, they were her family, she believed. She didn't mind that they were different, - well, that she was different - really. She loved them, and they loved her.
The last memory I have of Kira was of her crouching behind a rock, peering over just the slightest bit so she could see a pack of Wildebeests. She was hunting, I think, since she had that look of proudness in her pearl gaze. Her first hunt, I'm sure. I remember her beginning to stalk the smallest and weakest of the group, preparing to pounce. But then... then she got hurt... she got hurt bad...
I can somehow feel the searing pain Kira felt when she was attacked by that... thing. The clawing, the biting, the burning of when it reached into her chest and pulled out that pulsing, hot pink heart of hers. And then, here we are. Me, in this world, where I can only remember this girl's past who isn't me. So, if she's not me, than who am I?
As my foot splashed into a puddle, I looked down, and saw a girl with stormy eyes and dark brown, messy hair. Her hair then sort of... split off, I guess that's the word, and became soft and smooth silver locks that sweeped inwards, towards her back. She tilted her head to the side.
That girl looked up again, and stared at a man, suited in black, who stood in her way. His face was covered in shadows, so she couldn't define his features. The man reached his arms out, and letters appeared around this girl, letters of glass. They began to spin around her wildly, almost making the girl dizzy. They slowly settled down in front of her face, and she read the words aloud to herself. "Krixa..."
"Krixa."
She looked at the man, her dark gray eyes unchanging as the brilliant light from the letters illuminated his tanned face and gold eyes. He smiled at the girl, seeming to be challenging her.
"Your new name," His deep voice bellowed. "No, the new you."
That's when I really began to notice... that this girl, looking up to this man, was... she was... ime/i.
ibThe new me./i
