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I've not forgotten
by Heir of Darkness
They said I didn't remember. They said I was too young, that I could not have kept any memories. Sometimes, I thought they were right. I still was a baby, after all. One year old only. Not possible to remember anything from that far. Have to say that they didn't help me, either.
Never did they even mention their names. It was the strictest tabou under their roof, going even further than their disgusted aversion for anything above normal.
Perhaps they were right. Perhaps I had forgotten all that have happened. I didn't know. I didn't really want to know. How painful would it turn out to be, to find out that I was not even able to recall their names ? The names, of the people that meant the more to me ? The persons I knew so little about, but still so tirelessly search for anything left of them, anything that could be called a reminder of the past, a past, my past ...Maybe, maybe it was even more painful to remember. Who knew, who knew what held the memories ? Would I enjoy them ? Knowing what I had lost ? Knowing what I could have become ?
Knowing that I was alone, and knowing how happy I could have been. Oh, sometimes they came back, taunting, and in those times, I was back at being a child, the little scared child I was. The scared child I've learnt to hide behind all those masks, but none of them was me. None. But when the memories came back, I threw them all away, and I sat, cowering in a corner, not wanting to look, not daring to look, and I told them to go, to go, for I did not want to know. And they stayed, for a moment, begging for me to look at them, they wanted me to remember, and they told me things, that they loved me, that they cared, prying, teasing, laughing at my fear, and I told them to go, away, from me ... And when they were gone, I would look up, like a trapped animal, and after a while, would began searching for them again,deep inside my soul, where they were all hidden.
Vainly. The result always was the same. I'd forgotten. I didn't even remember what they looked like. Oh, sometimes somethings sprang to life, an ancient, blurry feature, a calm, loving voice, a sentence, ... But immediately overhelmed, either by a shriek from my aunt, shouting from my uncle, a wail from my cousin, my so-called family, or a silent tear from my heart.
Some nights, when I am kept awake from the constant torment from my soul, I would sit against one of my closet's wall, and turn my head to a very strange angle, for I know, that from this very angle, if I looked long enough, I could catch a glimpse of the night sky, with a single star blinking at me. And I told him, I told him all my worries, my hopes, and dreams and my fears. It was a parent to me, a family more than any of these meaningless people that called themselves "my only living relatives". It was my confident. Oh, how many times have I cried, cried my eyes out, poured my soul out to this single light in the night, the only one I could see. I did not expect an answer. Or perhaps I did. I just needed someone to listen to me. Help would be too much to ask for. I did not know, that this star was Sirius. Even if I knew it, why should I have cared ? I just wanted someone, anyone.
I knew that Dudley always spoke about his friends, at school, throwing into a fit for he could not invite them home more than twice a week. The concept "friend" was a stranger to me. I imagined it, as the best thing which could happen to anybody. Yeah, it was a dream, something so high that I knew I would never be able to reach it. But I could still dream ... And sometimes, I had friends, and I told the lonely star, as lonely as I was, I told him how wonderful it was, to play with them all day, to talk, just smile and laugh, something I thought I'd never know ... And it understood my grief ...
And all that, all that because of a stupid car crash. A flash of green light. Green light. Green light. All because of ... I don't know. I don't remember their faces, their names. I don't remember what they used to talk about,what color they liked, what was their favorite food, all those little things that seem unimportant, but it's them who make a person being different from another. And they were different, I knew it. At least. Different from theses ill-looking persons I can't even bear to think about as a family. It could not be like that. Life could not be just that. Just a blur of sadness, a mist of miser. An angry yell, shouting to me, to wash the windows, ... I somehow know that somewhere else, life was just different. And I could have it. How, I had no idea. And I lean back, on the wall, and I ask my little star, "How ?". Its light flickers, burns brighter for a moment, as if trying to tell me. But it can not, it can not, and I slowly closed my eyes ...
I dreamt of a pair of dazzling green eyes, eyes that were not mine ...