Cold. The sensation of intense cold. But the memory of heat, sudden, agonising heat.
Falling.
Falling was everything, had been everything since the beginning. But when had been the beginning? He did not know. Falling was now.
Something was enveloping him, sucking him down with a relentless certainty. It was entrapping his whole being: binding and changing him from what he was. He was losing himself.
Fear.
He struggled in blind, desperate panic to break free, his being screaming in terror as the sensation that was weight engulfed him.
Numbness.
Then an explosion of searing white light and pain.
Cold.
Icy waves of feeling near to him.
No, not near.
He fought for a way to express this experience.
Not near… across his skin.
Skin…
Icy wind sending rippling shivers across his back.
Hard, frozen ground beneath him.
Tense, cramped, aching muscles cold skin, cold body sensation of pain pain in his chest mounting fear red pulsating, the colour of blood chest hurting, bursting, HELP ME!
He gasped his first breath.
A blast of freezing air roaring into his waiting lungs opened the floodgates on the full compliment of his senses, springing his eyes open with the shock. Messages from every part of his body raced to his brain, clamouring for his attention, demanding his response. He faced the cacophony in uncomprehending horror. What was he supposed to do?
Colours. Shapes. Movement.
Noises. Rasping. Swishing. Rumbling. Voices.
Taste. The taste of tin in his mouth. The cold, acrid smell of winter, of dead grass in his nostrils.
He felt the bitter breeze stinging his eyelids, bringing tears to his eyes.
He was so cold.
The colours and movement were swirling nearer. His mind fought for control of his brain. This had meaning, this ensemble of colour and shape, of movement. He had to know. He watched and waited… and the answer came from nothing This was a man. His heart pounded in his ears. A man: like him.
A voice. Low, unafraid, curious.
A question.
Language. He needed meaning. Again he waited and again from nothing meaning came to him. This was comforting, this worked. His fear became less.
'Who are you?'
He looked into the dark, inquisitive eyes staring down at him. He waited, with confidence now, for the answer.
But no answer came.
He could hear his own breath, the rustling of the wind in the grass by his ear, the tapping of the man's robe against his boot… yet still nothing. Fear gripped his heart once more and he began to search inside. His body was telling him so many things, and most loudly that if he got much colder there would be serious consequences, but that wasn't what he wanted to hear. The 'nothing' had given him meaning, given him understanding, given him language to express what he felt. Surely it knew who he was… surely HE knew who he was!
Memory.
Icy realisation penetrated his chest and closed his throat. He should have memories, but he had none.
Who was he?
'I don't know!'
Three small words spoken aloud. Their power sunk onto his consciousness like an avalanche. He felt so frail, so vulnerable, so alone, so horribly and terrifyingly naked. The cold, the fear, the hollow emptiness swallowed him.