Disorientation.
That's all I feel.
I can't think, at first; whatever I'm in was shaking and moving and I feel my bones rattle, my teeth chatter and click against each other viciously.
But as my senses come back, the rattling and shaking settling in, I feel empty...and scared.
The first word out of my mouth feels both natural and utterly wrong, "Arti?"
There's a gap in my head. I'm missing information. Names, things I should know, faces I should be able to recall, but there's a space in my memory so wide it feels like something has been ripped out.
Like a peach with its pit pulled free.
But I know one thing—the thing that made me speak, and panic is rising, and I say it again, and again, feeling around me in the pitch black.
Something is missing.
I crawl around, saying the name over and over, until I feel warmth, softness, and I gasp. The pitch black is as disorienting as the movement around me, and it takes a moment, but my hands feel across the only thing I've found in this place.
I feel an arm...hands, legs, and I feel my heart hammering as I feel for the head, fingers ghosting over soft skin, and finally, finally, I find what I want; the soft gusts of breath.
I feel like I could cry with relief. Alive. Asleep, clearly, but alive, and I gather the limp body in my arms.
I can do no else.
I scoot over the floor until I find an edge, leaning in to it, cradling the most important thing I have to me, hoping beyond all reason that my little bundle doesn't awaken.
The name doesn't feel right, though. Arti. ...Artemisia. That's not her name. I don't know her real name...but this name doesn't sit on her right, it seems misaligned with what I know to be this little figure.
I'm missing things I don't know how I could be missing. I know she's my sister. I know she's little, probably five. The number feels right. I can see her face in my mind.
But the information around her is gone. Our parents...I don't know what they look like. I can guess, from her face, maybe.
Her real name is nowhere to be found, no matter how long I sit and think on it.
I can't even think of her birthday.
All I know is that she's my sister, and she's all I have—my head is empty of everything else, and she is everything to me.
Whatever is going on, whatever this is...she's what matters. I find myself certain that I would do anything for her. I'll fight, I'll protect her, I'll care for her, I'll give my life for her, I'll kill for her.
Whatever this is...
She's everything.
Though the certainty lingers, I feel fear creeping in. Time is trickling by. I fear she'll awake to this hellish darkness, and I don't want her to. But if she does, I'm wrapped around her. I can only hope that her brain isn't as empty is mine. I can only hope that she isn't as scared as me.
And I know I'll pretend I'm not, to keep her calm.
I feel her snuffling in to my chest after what seems an eternity, but I'm certain it's not more than fifteen minutes, in reality. She's stirring, waking up, moving against me and pushing toward my warmth, and the movement tells me all I need to know.
She's already scared.
"Shh, baby. It's okay," I say, loud enough to be heard over the rattling of our prison. I'm certain she's terrified, and I rub her back gently. "You're alright. I'm here."
