Burning Bones

Prologue

Memories of my existence escape me. Since the first day I remember, my vision has improved drastically. Blurs slowly turned into shapes, and moving shapes proved themselves to be people. Their faces were unfamiliar. Some people wore white robes, and some dressed in pink. A man whose crooked nose was supporting heavily framed glasses kept entering the room I was in. He would approach me with no emotion in his eyes, and took a look at my wrists. My hands exceeded frame of vision, thus I wasn't aware of what he found so interesting. He repeated this every day, three times a day.

Sometimes, a young woman in a pink dress would come instead. I learned there were many women dressed the same, and not once was I fortunate enough to have the same pink lady visit twice.

Everyone leaves me.

Daily, and at the same time every afternoon, a woman, a man her age, and a younger boy came to see me. They sat in plastic chairs next to me, and spoke to me. They spoke to each other as well, however, not as kindly.

The man was always as composed as could be. His sadness, obvious when one looked into his pale blue eyes, was settling inside him, supressing anger, joy... containing all aggressive feelings.

I would have given the boy about twenty years at the time. His face was fresh, not yet damaged by the cruelty of the world. He was radiating ideas and excitement through his sorrow. He was a smart child, he would get far in life. I had never heard him speak... but this was obvious.

Oh, but the woman. What a beautiful woman she was. She had straight, short black hair. Her face had been worn down by the hands of time, but her beauty was nevertheless enchanting. She had light blue eyes with a warmth I'd never seen before – granted, I had not met many people. She dressed in elegant blouses, blazers, lovely tailored slacks. A pair of small golden earrings always decorated her earlobes. What a wonderful woman, I thought, every time she entered my room.

There was a strange reminiscent aura around these visitors, as if they had meant the world to me... once. Now, they were strangers. Sure, I recognized their faces, but their names were unknown to me.

After a while, the man stopped coming. The boy's visits had become rarer and rarer as well. Only the woman remained faithful. She came, she spoke to me, held my hand, cried... left. Came back again.

I don't know why she kept visiting. Her presents and her words were meaningless to me. They must have meant something to her.

I must have meant something to her.

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