Her footsteps sound like rain. Just a soft pitter patter against a linoleum floor. I stop and listen ... waiting. She pauses before going past my room and I let out the air I've been holding in my chest. The sun hasn't risen yet. The walls look like the inside of a fish tank. They are blue with reflections and light dancing slowly ... rhythmically... making me feel as if the world is telling me to sleep a little longer. I close my eyes and see all my memories. Images .. pictures that are torn at the edges. Each picture meets up with another until they all meet up with another. Until there's a patchwork quilt made of pictures in my mind. And suddenly, I'm going through each image, replaying the details. I'm remembering sounds and colors, smells, and touches that felt as if there were sparks in our hands. I never hear my voice in these dreams. I always hear his. I mostly see him. It's almost as if my memories are replaying themselves, but without me in them. It's a strange sensation, to realize you've been taken out of your own memories...to not remember yourself. But, you know who everyone else is.
Sometimes, we are standing up on a hill, looking out at the sunset. He has black hair and deeply tanned skin. His eyes are brown and his smile is so bright. He has broad shoulders and an odd laugh. Usually he is is sitting in front of an easel, painting. The smell of oil paints fills my nose and the wind is blowing. He's talking and saying something about how to mix the colors to make the perfect blue. There's a beautiful image on the canvas. There are flowers, the blue sky and swirls of colors. As I reach to touch it, It bursts into flames. And suddenly I remember, I don't exist. The world shifts and morphs into a gray emptiness. His blue flannel shirt has been replaced by a white t-shirt. It's stained red. Blood? His eyes are glassy ... empty, as if he's not alive. But he's speaking. I don't understand it. I turn to flee, only to slam into a wall of flames. I don't exist. And before I know it, I awake to to the sound of beeping. The room is no longer blue, but stark white. The curtains are open, revealing bright, white light. A hospital?
I don't know how long I've been here. All I know is that something happened, something scary. Something to do with darkness and hands. Blood, I remember the smell of blood … the taste of metal. And fear. I was afraid … running. And I don't exist. I don't even know my name.