Hi!
I'd just like to let you know in advance that this isn't my best writing, so I'm sorry if it sucks. In a way, though, it is supposed to confusing, because hey! It's Breach!
If you have any questions about what the hell is going on, let me know!
She remembered her name: Emma, which meant whole and complete. She had liked the way it sounded when it rolled across her tongue and called to her from far away. It was a nice word, one she—mommy—had used often. She remembered her and how she was nice, just like the name she'd given her.
There was another one, another tall man that was always with mommy. She didn't want to remember him, and so it ended up that she couldn't remember him, after all.
She remembered the fall, the way the leaves would detach themselves from their branches and dance in the wind. She remembered feeling happy as she danced along with them, and she remembered how with the fall and the trees and the falling leaves and the dances came the school.
The school was a horrible place, mean and dark and quiet, just like the people in it. She was quiet, too, but only when the others were loud. She remembered how they'd shout words at her and watch her fall and trip over their things. She hadn't kept them, of course, but she had kept the school with all its meanness and darkness and quiet.
Because she had met him there.
He was quiet, and he was loud. She didn't mind his loudness, though… She didn't know why. She couldn't remember his name, or his face, but she remembered all the nice things he'd given her. All the shiny things.
He'd taken her away from the loudness at the school and into a building full of books. He had given her a place to be 'd given her teddy bears and games and toys of all kinds. When she realized they didn't matter, she kept them anyways and put them in her special place because they were from him. And that was what mattered. He'd given her things she hated, numbers and lines and shapes that were supposed to somehow make sense when put together, but really didn't. For some reason, he thought they did, so she took them from him and kept them with her, too.
But she wasn't supposed to like the things he'd given to her. The man with mommy had said she couldn't. That he was no good. She hadn't believed him.
And then she started dreaming.
In her dreams, the things she remembered and hadn't taken were lost forever, and for a while she'd thought of them as nightmares. There was nothing, only loudness and screams of terror until her first favorite had come offered her a quiet place, a promise land. So she went, and shed her old name for a new one that meant just what she was: broken. And that was okay. Because some broken things were beautiful.
Her first favorite was a liar, who she'd wanted to escape from, but knew she couldn't. So she built a place where she could awaken from the dreams—once more nightmares—and be in the silence. A place that was real, just like her name and the trees and the dances and the school and the boy.
Her second favorite had told the truth, even when she didn't believe him. He reminded her so much of the boy, quiet and loud and nice. And even though he didn't know it, he could see the real things. All of them. Where the silence came from and where the boy's gifts were. He knew what it meant, even if he couldn't remember.
And it had come to the point where she couldn't tell the difference from her dream—this now spectacular dream—and where her favorite was. The end. Somehow, though, that didn't matter.
"It was nice…" she breathed, "having a friend for a while…"
She held on to the boy, and never let go.