Unwanted Memories

Disclaimer: I do not know, nor have I ever met Jimmy Hoffa...er, I mean, I don't own any of the Highlander characters, nor do I own the idea of immortality. Don't ask me, I just write here.

My first real Challenge. Rebecca, if I ever see you again, I am not speaking to you. How can you not even try to protect me from this? I know what you'll say. Blah blah blah every immortal has to go out on their own and leave their teachers blah blah blah.

That's great, but it's MY neck on the line this time. I am not ready for this.

I have no time to think now, only to block, to parry, to thrust, to...do whatever it was Rebecca taught me. Oh, Lord, help me if you can hear me! He's so very strong! I don't know how much longer I can last!

Fate is on my side for once today. I spot a weakness in my opponent's defense, and I thrust my sword deep between his ribs. I watch as his eyes slowly widen with shock. Everything is slow now. Everything is very quiet, almost as if the sound around me has been blotted out. The man before me falls slowly to his knees, his mouth open wide with pain. A small stream of blood trickles from the corner of his mouth. Wrenching my sword from his torso, I pull back and swing at his neck with all my might. I'm so tired, that it's not the clean, smooth process I've seen Rebecca perform. The unknown immortal's head tilts sideways at a crazy angle and hangs by a couples of grizzly inches of skin and sinew.

Either way, he's still dead.

His lifeless body topples to the ground in a heap before me. Panting, I lean on my sword and wait for what is to come. Rebecca warned me of what comes next, but I'm still frightened. I once snuck from the castle to watch Rebecca face a Challenge, and I witnessed the Quickening. Lightning everywhere, explosions so powerful they lifted Rebecca from the ground. Scratch frightened: I'm terrified.

The mists begin gathering around me, around the lifeless form at my feet. Where does it come from? What is it made of? Perhaps I am the only one who has ever bothered to think of such trivial things. Why is this moment stretching out so long? When you dread something, it either moves achingly slow or terribly fast, and right now the entire world is practically crawling. The air begins to crackle around me. Sparks fly from the decapitated body, moving closer and closer to me.

The first lightning bolt strikes, sending pain rifling through my body. I grit my teeth, bracing myself. As the second bolt strikes me, a scene flashes before my eyes. A young woman sits next to me, talking with someone. Talking with me. But it isn't me. She isn't speaking to me, because she speaks to one she knows, to one with whom she is accustomed to speaking. She is speaking to a man. Is this...Am I? I am.

I am seeing one of the memories of the man I've just killed.

Is that what Quickenings are? Instead of just getting your victim's energy and power, you get their life as well? I don't want this! I never asked for this man's life! I have enough of my own memories already, far too many already to want someone else's! This isn't a prize; it's a curse!

More pain now, intense blinding pain that blocks out the image of the woman. Explosions all around me, something shatters nearby yet so far away. Power runs through my body, raw, unadulterated power surging through my veins, lifting me from the ground, and I see...

I see a young boy running through a field full of daisies and dandelions, of clover and daffodils, of sunshine and laughter. Everything is so bright, so alive, so real...Green, yellow, blue...Running, still the boy is running...Smiling...laughing...alive…

So very quiet now...No more laughter...The field melts away before my eyes to reveal another, similar field. No, not similar; it is the same field, only now everything is just...Wrong. There is no more laughing, no more running. Everything is as still as death. There is no more blue or green or even yellow. Everything is black and gray. And red. Lot's of red. Death. Bodies lie everywhere. This must be a battle ground. Nothing is stirring. Everything is so quiet, so still. The boy lies still now, the same age but somehow older, his eyes open wide and staring, yet sightless. The slim wooden shaft of an arrow protrudes from his blood-spattered chest. So much red everywhere, all blood and gore.

Then more pain as a fourth bolt strikes me...and a fifth...Power, pain...Over and over. So many sights: rolling, green hills; wide, yawning valleys; frozen, black rivers; warm, deep blue oceans. People everywhere, so many people: smiling, crying, laughing, people this man has loved, people he's hated. I see my face for the briefest of moments. More and more images bombarding my senses, blinding pain, explosions, light, but most of all POWER.

It stops. I'm on my knees, alone, with no one nearby but the semi-beheaded corpse of my opponent. I'm shivering, weak, barely able to stay on my knees without collapsing completely, and covered in blood, sweat, dirt, tears, and who knows what else. Standing is out of the question right now, as I'm straining to get the strength to breathe. Every breath burns my lungs, and tears sting the backs of my eyes; my head feels as if the village blacksmith is finishing a set of horse shoes. The world around me seems so dim, so far away.

Slowly, the pain begins to subside. The pounding in my head fades far sooner than I expected as the world comes back into focus. I now find the strength to raise myself upright and stand on my feet. New memories fill my head, memories of a life I did not live, of a past that is not mine. Already, though, these pictures are fading from my mind, leaving nothing but vague impressions and fleeting glimpses of the events and people they once belonged to. New strength flows through my veins, strength that will not fade unless I allow it. I stoop down and lift my sword from the ground. I take one last glance at the man whose life I've taken, whose life is now mine.

Then I turn and walk away.