Fall of Hope

Chapter 1

Eight years later…

He jumped back at the look on fire in his hands hands. His breathing became much quicker and longer. But the hand didn’t burn. He felt nothing. In-fact, the fire gave light in the oddly dark room. The sixteen year old was profoundly confused. His head began to run various thoughts. His mind raced on the darkness of the building, the fire that was in his hand and the curiosity of his name.

…

What was his name? 

The sixteen year old eye’s widened; he realized didn’t know his own name. He thought of his past. But he couldn’t, as if it was never there. As if it never has been there. He couldn’t remember his past. He stood up immediately as he panicked; it was dark; only the fire illuminated the area around him. He realized he was in a building, yet the area was filled with a gray and dark dust. But he couldn’t think clearly as he absorbed his surroundings, he analyzed his track of mind and then the sixteen year old realized he was thinking too much.

Too much. What an irony. 

But it was simple. He was thinking of too many things; including the fact he had no idea on who he himself was. No; is. 'Was' would be an incorrect term as he is alive. Is; 'is' is the present, 'was', is the past. It did not mean that due to his amnesia he had died; because he was very much breathing.

 He decided to immediately calm down as he sat down; as he sat  on his rear he sensed a soft ground, as if a pillow maybe, he quickly realized this was some sort-of improvised bed. He began to try to reorganize his breath. 

He closed his eyes, feeling his chest rise and fall with his breaths. He only thought on that. The movement of his chest rising and falling...but his eyes opened again; thinking over took his head as questions poured into his head. He was without a doubt panicking, and he couldn’t get it under control. The crackling fire of his right hand kept on noises in the room. An apparent case of amnesia in a dark room and apparently with fire in his right hand; who could keep himself calm? 

He decided to try to be one of the first ones to calm themselves in such a situation. He closed his eyes still lying in the softer part of the ground- possibly bed sheets? He thought of the fact he didn’t know his name. No, he couldn’t remember anything about himself. He breathed slowly. Amnesia? Then why could he think so clearly- in such an organized manner? But amnesia seemed to be the answer. Yet he couldn’t explain how he could explain that. 

Lance he realized.

That was his name. Lance got up slowly. He realized that his right hand with the fire was less lit than a few seconds ago. Then it was gone. The room was dark, yet he could see slightly around himself. Lance’s mind was racing. Did he have amnesia? If so, where is he? A hospital? Impossible; a room so dusty would never be in a hospital. His minds kept running on various thoughts that originated from his surroundings. 

Lance decided to move around. He felt his legs were fine and in top condition.

That means it’s not as if he had been sleeping for eighty days and he just woke up with amnesia. His body felt used to it, his legs were fresh. It’s as if he just woke up and couldn’t remember his own life. His eyebrows came together as he massaged his forehead with his left hand. How could such a thing happen? 

What were the odds of this? 

He was thinking too much. It was a frustrating thought that there were so many things in his head he was being forced to stop thinking. Lance closed his eyes and moved to what was in front of him. He knew and had seen a door there, his hand in the dark moved around the side of the door, but he eventually found the doorknob he had been looking for.