The Edge Of The Universe

Chapter One: All I've ever known

             The loud rumbling of thunder wakes me from my dreams. I sit up in my bed, and look around, gazing at the beige walls. Shadows swim around my room, making my skin crawl. My winter time flannel pajamas are sticky with sweat. Crawling out of my cocoon of blankets, I reach around my night table for the oil lamp. When my fingers connect with the cold sleek metal base of the of the lamp, I ignite it, sending light flickering across the room, hiding the shadows away for another time. Swinging my legs over the edge of my thin bed, I plant them firmly on the freezing concrete floor of my cell, sending a shock wave of chills racking up my spine. The rush of blood to my head is pounding against my brain, and contorting my vision. I shut my eyes, but I can still see the memory beneath my lids. Over and Over, like a repetitive torture method; the scene unfolds. 

             A girl, around the age of fifteen, is standing, facing her acrylic white door. She wears a studded leather jacket, with hair cascading down her back, nearly reaching the torn knee of her jeans. There is no audio to this scene, but I feel a deep hollow connection to it. A regretting connection. I can tell by the arch of the girls already pointed eyebrows that she is angry. She opens her mouth, forming tormented yells I can not hear. She brings her hands to her ears, hanging her head. I yearn to comfort her. I ache to help her. My thoughts are pulled to a halt, when a man and a women burst into the room. 

             The scene, or I'm even more sure a memory now, skids to a halt, letting my eyes clear up, and leaving me with a dizzying amount more questions than answers. My fingers find their way to the base of my neck, running along the bronze edge of my worn and rusty locket. I try to pry it open with my fingers, but they turn out unyielding. My fingers ache from jamming them into the latch. Becoming impatient, I give a sharp tug to the chain, and it pulls against my neck, leaving a thin line of blood along the back of it. I have the locket imprisoned in my hand, with the chain dangling from my fingertips. I bring my arm back, and without hesitation, throw the locket against the floor. The metal gives in against the tough concrete, and the pieces, finally separated, skitter across the ground. 

          I slowly lift the images that were just freed from the locket, and turn them over in my hands. The first one is worn and frayed at the edges, but the face is clear as day. The man is wearing a blue shirt, with his hair neatly styled. Very different from his appearance in the memory. Written on the back, in wavy letters, are the words, "Abe Freeman, AKA Daddy." My eyes begin to sting. I've been carrying this window to my past for so long without opening it. The next image is of a woman, with flowing dark hair, just like me. I look at the back, and sure enough, the words, "Sally Freeman, AKA Mommy." Are written on it, in what I assume is my hand writing. 

            How can this be possible? The only thing I  remember about my past is my name, Asher. I've only ever known this cell. It's all I've ever known.