Arielle Reedsy Anthology

Orange

They all looked at me the same: a pushed out bottom lip and pinched eyebrows. A question in their eyes as their fingers twined together, twisting in discomfort.

Did I need anything?

Could they get me anything?

Does it hurt?

Will it ever...you know.

They'd always ask with a hesitancy, as if making an observation and posing a question I hadn't already replayed in my mind countless times.

No, there was nothing you could do.

I don't need anything else.

And no, it didn't hurt. Not any more than usual at least, though I always made sure to leave that part out. Less loose ends, less messy that way.

And if it would ever come back?

No.

I remember that.

It. Oh how timidly they disassociate from the word memory.

It would never come back.

Nowhere in the recollection or "memory" I do have does it show me remembering my past.

I live.

I really do.

And then I forget.

I what I'm supposed to do, who I'm supposed to become.

I see the villain and hero play my life on strings like a puppet.

I will never know who I was before. And no one will ever need to know what I will be.

What is the point in hoping for a future I won't find?

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Pretty self explanatory. People know she can't remember her past and is plagued with questions they ask. And while she knows her future, there's no point in tying to avoid it. Besides, she won't remember it in the end.