Dorthy

Eight

His eyes opened. His head throbbed. His joints, particularly his back, ached at every involuntary twitch of his body. He moaned and the sound was hollow in his ears. Oddly, he felt his voice should have been fuller. Had more substance to it. He sounded, to himself, as if his voice was missing a part of itself. There was a hollowness that his was confusing his ears. He began to cough, the jerking causing the headache he hadn't really noticed over his other pains to explode and make him press his temples to the point they could almost cave in.

The coughing subsided. He lay there, trying to bring his breathing under control and subdue any further fits. Steadily, he started to feel more normal. The headache eased quickly and, apart from his back, the soreness in the rest of his body reduced to more manageable levels. He had always felt an ache that was permanently settled under the surface of his skin, as if, at any moment, it would reveal itself and reduce him to a quivering ball of agony. It was a thunder on the edge of his sensations, and it was ever present.

But this was different. This wasn't that. This was... he couldn't quite describe it. His mind was thick with forgetfulness and it was causing his thoughts to push against a current he was struggling to fight. He didn't know where he was. He couldn't remember how he came to be there. He needed to concentrate to remember his own name. Even when he had, he wasn't sure he was correct.

He lifted his hand to rub his eyes.

The palm of his hand was covered in scratches. He looked at his other and found the same criss-cross of red, sore lines etching his skin. The pattern continued up his forearms to where the biceps tunnelled into the sleeves of his shirt. He touched one of the slashes on his wrist and winced. Where had they come from? What had he done? Had he been attacked?

He pushed himself up and stood. The world started to spin around him and he crouched down to try and let it whirl its way still once more. His back cracked loudly as he bent down and he could feel the joints freeing up, as if they'd been fused together and he was breaking their bonds. He looked at his clothing and the tears in the cloth.

What?

He stood again, ignoring the much fainter wave of nausea that washed over him.

"Come on... Adam. Get it together."

Saying the words – his name – out loud seemed to cement his identity in his mind. He felt a little surer about himself, though he still couldn't recall what had happened. Adam. His name was Adam. He was... a... baker? The smell of bread, fresh from the oven and perfectly risen, filled his nostrils. Yes, he was! Suddenly, his memories returned, slamming into his mind with enough force to take his breath away. He lived alone, but was courting Melody whose father sold his sheep every Thursday morning in the market square. She was lovely, rather than beautiful, and her smile bound him as if with a spell.

He'd seen Melody earlier that day. They had shared an evening meal, in fact. When they parted company, their kiss was filled with the promise of boundaries and barriers crumbling. He'd intended to go home, but had decided to walk along the river that ran through town. The cygnets had recently hatched, as they did each year, and he enjoyed watching them grow and become swans themselves. Melody told him that, one day, he would grow into a swan. He would be strong and proud and beautiful. He was, of course, those things already, to her, but she hoped he wouldn't fly away and leave her.

"Why would I want to grow up at all?" he asked and she smiled that smile.

He tickled her sides and they laughed until the tears came and the passion ignited. But, they had promised each other they would wait, so they shared that kiss.

He had stood by the water's edge and watched the young birds as the sun set and the moon and her sisters, the stars, flooded the heavens. The cob, the cygnets' father, hissed at him in warning. He intended them no harm. Adam thought nature was beautiful. If he had a choice, he could spend all day appreciating its wonder. But, at the implied behest of the swan, he backed away and continued his walk. The sky was clear and the moon was full.

There was nothing else. Nothing except...

Hunger.