FaceLess

One

The sudden light burned his eyes, nearly blinding him. He stumbled, his foot catching on something he couldn't see. He tumbled. A dozen small slices cut savagely into his bare chest and back as he fell hard against the rough ground.

He blinked. He could see, but his eyes refused to focus. Didn't matter. He forced himself up. Had to keep moving. Had to.

The world around him was green and brown and bright. He didn't know where he was or how he got there.

With a growing horror, he realized he didn't even know who he was.

He ran. He didn't know where he was running and didn't care. All he knew was that anywhere was better than from where he came. Anywhere.

He pushed himself harder. His lungs burned. Muscles ached with exertion. Still he ran, ignoring the pain of little cuts and scratches blooming across his exposed shins, and the rough ground abusing the soles of his bare feet.

Awareness grew. The green and the brown shapes were trees and the ground. The bright was the light of day. He was in a forest. In the sunlight. When was the last time he had been in the sunlight? When was the last time he had seen trees?

Wait. Had he ever seen them before?

No, he had to have. He knew what they were.

Finally, as the rational thought that crept into his mind took hold, his body's cries for a respite could no longer be ignored. He stopped, panting. His breath appeared in front of him in tiny white puffs that vanished like a ghost an instant later. He bent over, hands to his knees, drinking in the cold morning air. His lungs ached. His entire body felt overused. Everything was stiff, sore. How long had it been since he slept?

He looked down at himself. He saw with no small surprise that he was naked save for a pair of tattered denim shorts. His entire body was covered in a gleaming sheen of sweat. Bright red streaks marked his legs, his chest. Scratches from brush and branches. The sweat stung them, but he didn't care. They reminded him he was alive. It felt good to be alive.

That thought stopped him short.

Why was he running? What danger was he fleeing? Would it come for him?

Without knowing why, he knew that it would.

He ran again.

He listened.

It had been an hour since he had finally stopped. At least, he guessed it was an hour. After his breathing had slowed and the ringing in his ears subsided, he had sat listening to the sounds of the forest, his back against the biggest tree he could find.

Birds. The skittering of tiny animals. Leaves brushing in the breeze. The buzz of insects.

He sat and he listened. And he tried to remember.

Small moments. Images. Sensations. Impressions. Nothing concrete.

Mostly, there was darkness and pain.

Maybe it was better he didn't remember.

Sudden motion in front of him startled him. In a second, without thought, his body tensed like a coil, ready to spring from the threat. His vision locked on the source of the movement: A grey squirrel. Its body was low, tensed in much the same way, watching him intently.

He relaxed, letting the tension in his body out but remaining still. The breath he'd held escaped slowly.

The squirrel also seemed to relax, and boldly ventured toward him, until he was only a few feet in front of him. It stopped, turned one of it's eyes and fixed it at him. The furry creature held itself motionless, still unsure if he was a threat or merely a harmless interloper. Man and beast eyed each other in a bizarre staring contest. First to flinch loses, the man thought.