Chapter Word Count: 1,076||Story Word Count: 2,129||Chapter Count: 2/12
I wish the wind would tell me where it wants me to go, or at least … well… something. Anything.
But I'm also not sure if I really understand it or if I'm just somehow making this all up. Why would I be able to talk to the wind and have it talk back?
Or not talk but understand it, anyway? Have it push me the way that it wants me to go?
I still don't understand any of this and I want to so much. I want my memories back. I want to know who I am and why this is going on.
The only real hope that I have is finding out where the wind wants me to go and I can't even say for sure if that will help. It's just the only thing that I can do right now.
So I keep trudging into it, and the wind blows me along. It blows my hair in my face, which I don't like all that much, but I almost think the wind is trying to tease me with it? Or maybe it can't help it.
Part of not having any memories means that I don't know why things happen. I don't know if I'd know why they happened if I did have my memories, but at least I'd know something more than I do right now.
I feel like I'm twisting my brain all in knots over nothing, but what else am I supposed to do? Lost in the cold and the snow and the wind, and the only thing that's close to a friend is the wind itself.
It pushes at me more, trying to steer me along. It takes me a few minutes to figure out where it wants me to go, but I take the time. Really, what else am I going to do? Stopping means I freeze. Not stopping means I don't freeze and might get somewhere.
I think I see something ahead of me now. It's kind of amazing to see something that's not the endless white on all sides. Something that's not me, anyway.
The names of things drift back, little by little, mostly of what I can see. I know snow. I can understand the wind, even if I can't see it.
I know my arms and legs. I know the brush of my hair and the fact that it's gold. I don't know much else about myself but I would like to. And all that I have is the wind pushing me onward and something that I can kind of see ahead, even if I can't guess at what it is.
Seeing it doesn't mean I know it, even when I'm close enough to see it clearly. It's just a thing. It's about twice as tall as I am, slender and straight, coming to a point at the top and flat on all the sides around.
Then a name slips into my head. This is an obelisk.
I can't help it, I'm proud to know the word. It feels like the blankness that is me isn't so blank anymore.
Maybe this is a good sign. Maybe if I keep going, I'll find more of me, and then I won't be blank anymore. I like the idea of not being blank.
I know I was a person before this. Before whatever took my memories, and maybe even sent me here to … to do something. Fight to get them back? Die without them? That I don't know. But I was a person before and I'm going to be a person again.
If whoever did this wanted me to die, then I'm not going to let that happen. I don't care who did it. If they wanted me to get them back, then I want to do that.
I want to do that even if they don't want me to.
Maybe even especially if they don't want me to.
Though I'd like to know who it is. Because I want to know everything that I don't know right now.
That's probably too much for one person to know. But I'm going to try it anyway. I want to at least know everything that I did before, even if it's not everything that I don't know right now.
I try to move on beyond the obelisk. But the wind won't let me, howling and shrieking fit to deafen me if it doesn't stop.
All right. I get the message. I won't go beyond here. Not until the wind says I can anyway.
I rest a hand on one side of the obelisk. It's cool to the touch. It's about as wide as I am, I think. I don't have anything else to measure it by. I keep a hand on it as I walk along, so the wind knows that I'm not trying to leave it behind.
I walk all the way around it, moving my hand up and down, mostly so I can do something until the wind lets me know what else it wants me to do. Almost everywhere I touch is smooth.
But on the other side, opposite to where I started, there's a little switch. It's almost flush against the side, not the sort of thing you'd notice at first sight. You'd almost have to touch it in order to know it's there.
The wind picks up the moment I realize what it is and I know the wind is cheering me on.
I press the switch. That's what happens with switches, isn't it? You press them and they do things.
I press it and there's a rumble. It takes a moment for me to realize that it's the obelisk itself, or the door that slowly appears that's rumbling. I can't remember hearing anything that isn't the wind in so long.
The wind itself pushes me toward the door, which is just a gaping sort of darkness. I can see the top of a set of stairs and nothing else. Whatever's down there, I'm not going to see it unless I'm right on top of it.
So I go downward. It feels nice for a few moments to not have the wind pressing against me, but in the next moment, I'm lonely, too. The wind is my friend. The wind has been trying to help me. I miss it.
But the wind can't go underground. And underground is where I have to go next.
To Be Continued
Notes: I don't know what's going on any more than you do.
