bakusensei: Don't worry, it all gets resolved...
utoto: Thank you for coming out of your shell and reviewing! It really means a lot to me, and I'm so glad you liked it! I hope the next few chapters are to your satisfaction as well. (Geez that sounds formal...)
UBER-SPECIAL REQUEST: If anyone wants to make a doujinshi (or any sort of fanart) out of this...go right ahead and email me! I'll love you forever!
These Memories:
A Series About Friendship and Forgetfulness
: Before all things / I had a name / I think it left me long ago / Why can't I remember / Today I have another chance / to step out / I will not rest / until I know / what it all means / I will not give in / until I have you back / where you belong / I will not stop / because this is who I am / Maybe in time / these memories will fade away :
Until I Know
Being alone provides much time to think.
These Memories: Part VIII
The supplies that came from the products of his old group finally arrived, because everyone he'd been imprisoned with was gone.
There were new blankets for everyone. There was enough food to at least keep the new ones quiet, and to trick them into thinking this new life of theirs was going to be alright. He knew better.
There was nothing new for Number Twenty-Eight.
He didn't care. Being the only one from the previous group to have not been sold, he was practically a myth to the new would-be-slaves. Nobody was truly sure Number Twenty-Eight existed...well, that was stupid. If they'd just bothered to look through the grate in the corner of the courtyard, they'd know. But their captors strongly urged them not to, not to do anything out of hand or they might end up like Number Twenty-Eight, and so he was still alone.
He lay on his back, staring through the grating that provided the only light in this pit. It was barely large enough for him to sit against one wall and stretch his legs out—if he flexed his feet his toes would touch the opposite wall. The ceiling was horrendously far away, the rusted grating directly in the center, so when the sun was directly overhead his little cell was awash with light.
The plump boy was gone from his memories now. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. If the light came in through the grating just right, it made shadows, and if he placed his hands just the right way, he could play with them, make them move and dance and change shape.
That part of him that always seemed to be looking out for his well-being made him wonder why he could play with shadows. It was the same part that asked him why there was nothing in his head to remember. It was the same part that told him there was something out there for him, if he could only get out and to it.
But how? He wondered, staring up at the ceiling so far away like everything else. And what if I do get out—what then?
His empty mind told him to trust his gut. His gut instinct deferred to his heart.
His heart said it didn't know.