The archive of the forgotten

The better one ~ the memories

The small hand in mine reminds me of so much.
"I recognise this!" The boy says as we arrive at the main road leading towards the city.
I sigh and nod, disappointed to be torn so cruelly from my memories. I quint and I can see the tops of the familiar houses. The air in my lungs expands as if it wants to kill me again, remind me of the things I did wrong, the things I did right, the things I could've done right, the things that won't be right or wrong, no matter how much I try to reason.
"Why you so so quiet?" He asks as he looks up.
"I...." I smile and pet his head as I mourn the dreams I once had "The more I talk the more you will ask." I say as I start walking again.
"What's wrong with questions? Mum says questions are never wrong."
"Well than your mum is wrong." I say with a chuckle as the boy tries to match my pace and I inadvertently slow down,
"Are you staying for dinner Machineman?" He asks as he looks at me with his childishly twinkling eyes.
"No, I don't eat." I lie "Beside, no one wants to see this..."

I stumble into the bathroom. The wine from yesterday still potent in my long starved body. I turn on the tap, the loud noise squeaks its way into my headache, I cup my hands and wash my face, my locks slowly losing their form and making me resembling morgana (According to Thrjel a few weeks ago). I pinch my nose as the cold water works its way into my face. My eyes ache, begging for the sleep I cannot give them. However much fun and carefree the last few weeks have been I have been plagued with nightmares since last Monday. It's honestly confusing, I try to leave them in my room and ignore them while I get another lesson in riding like every day, I learn quickly, nobody ever told me so but I wouldn't be able to count the times Sostrate has said it in this holiday. Thrjel is almost fluent in Fianlynds, I might have underestimated him, I am so proud about his progress it makes me incredibly happy to see him get to know his culture better. Not to mention that our friendship has been amplified by the fact that we can talk in both our languages. But still, this nagging of unhappiness is following me as the days that I need to return to the school again. But I don't dare to talk about it, it'll only make it worse and make me seem ungrateful. I cannot do that to Sostrate, I cannot do that to him. I cannot be a bother when I am here to be a guest, a delight. I look at myself in the mirror and pathetically try to smile but all I produce is the sycophantic grin that cannot be characterized by happiness. I dry my hair and inspect my face, I have these times when I do want to tell Thrjel. When I want to be honest, with myself and with him, I want to tell him I have this voice in my mind that says the same thing over and over again till even I believe that I am going insane.
But then he smiles, he smiles and my urge to tell him melts. The tension in my shoulders rips aprt and I don't care about anything but the preservation of that very smile. Not a grin, a smile. And at those time I realise that insanity isn't all that important.

I sit down at the breakfast table.
"Good morning," Sostrate says cheerfully.
"Good morning Ma'ammy." I say with a very good attempt at a smile. I couldn't help but call her ma'am too often, and so we have compromised with this. It suits her and I think it rolls off the tongue nicely. She puts the pill in front of my and gets me a glass of water.
"You've been here all the time, I wondered if you would like me to drive you to the capital city so you can meet some of your other friends, maybe take Thrjel with you? Show him around?" She asks.
"You want to get rid of me eh?" I chuckle and shake my head "All my friends are dead, in hiding, in the mines, or imprisoned. But mostly dead. And honestly there's nothing to show except for ash and smoke. Cyndion, our once beautiful city is nothing but a distance memory of something we thought would last forever." I take the pill for my back and swallow it without water. "My friend came from the countryside, you know the islands up above?" She nods and turns around and tilts her head listening very clearly. "He said he was thirteen, clumsy, and shy. So he came to Cyndion, we joked he did it to die."
She chuckles and turns around, pouring three cups of tea. "Where is he now?"
"He was shot and killed when he was sixteen, because a soldier had been killed..... ten boys under 30 needed to die." I say while wishing I still had a bottle of wine handy. "But I do not like to reminisce about those days."
I look at her and strangely her eyes have zoned out, I have never seen her like that before. It's strange to see, I don't know if she didn't realise this was my reality two years ago or if she is thinking about being a silent accomplice to this kind of violence.