Youth

#49 - Something Amiss

It was damp and cold.  The chilly air swirled around like rushing water, cascading over every surface and enveloping everyone within in its reach.  Someone shivered, pulling his arms closer to his body.  Everything was so fuzzy.  Where was he?  Who was he?  He stood up, walking over to something, though it was too dark to tell what until he collided with it; a stone wall.  He let out a small groan of pain from the light collision.  Rubbing the back of his neck, he turned around to see shadowy figures not too distant from him.  Shadowy figures just like himself, reflecting off of the walls. 

"Hello?" he called to them.  They all stood and watched him, their lips moving in sync with his.  As he walked closer, so did they, until they were right before one another.

He placed his hand on the shining wall, his fingertips meeting with his reflection.  He couldn't quite make himself out, though.  His skin was caked in dirt and dried blood and his hair was a tangled, muddied mess.  It was too dark to work out the colour of his eyes.

He began to walk through the strange chasm he'd found himself in, his hand against the wall as it grew too dark for him to see where he was going.  There had been the smallest amount of light in the area he'd been in before thanks to a small crack in the stone above, though he knew he couldn't get through it.

"Hello?" he called out again, his voice dreary and eyes tired.  What was his name?  Surely he should remember a detail like that?

More light up ahead.  He let out a sigh of relief and quickened his pace as he approached it. 

A shining blue underground lake, once again illuminated by cracks in the ceiling which left light beams on the water, dancing like fairies as the water rippled gently.  The only thing that could be causing such movement would be life in the water, so the man was wary as to not disturb it too much.  But he needed to clean himself off.  Maybe if he could recognise himself, he'd remember what he was forgetting.

Perching himself by the water's edge, he trickled water over his face, rubbing at the dried blood and dirt, allowing it to drip off him into the lake.  When that wasn't doing enough, he ditched his shirt and splashed water over himself.  So much for not disturbing whatever life was in the lake, but he needed to know.  He needed to remember.

The water was choppy now, but - glimmering in its blue hues - he could see.

* * *

"H-hello!" a timid voice called beside him.  He couldn't really move that well, though he could understand just about what she was saying to him.  "M-my name is Vicky.  And your name is Nyais," she smiled.  So that was his name...

* * *

"Vicky, you've got to stop doing that," a frustrated, young Nyais muttered.  He was about 6 days old at the time.  Vicky was his carer - a sweet young woman with black hair and big blue eyes.  She turned to look at him with worry.

"Doing what, sweetheart?" she asked.

"Acting like you're our mother."  He looked at the other young boys grouped with him.  Sadly his memory failed him and he was unable to recall a single one of their names.  But they were there; fuzzy in appearance but present.

"Sweetheart, I'm your carer.  It's my job."

"Stop calling me sweetheart," Nyais snapped, "and have some respect."

* * *

His relationship with Vicky had been a distant one as it was with most carers.  Once the carers realised the children had no care for them or their wellbeing, they usually hid themselves away in their room, exactly as Vicky had.  She'd managed to live the 21 days somehow, but was quickly taken off to the elites and killed.  Well, what was to be expected?  Nyais wasn't sad, and nor were the rest of the kids he'd been raised with.  By god were they glad to get away from one another, too.  Being cooped up in the same room for such a long time was physical torture.