Random Things I Write When I Have Inspiration

#3

He forgot the colour of her eyes. Green, grey, brown, blue, the memory was lost to him. The one thing he could count on, the last wisps of memory left in him, forgotten.

He spent days locked down there, nothing but a stolen piece of chalk and a small flower, a lily, growing through the cracks of the floor.

Julia, he named it. Now, by that time he couldn't remember why he chose that name. It was just one of those things, he supposed. Something you feel you know, yet have no recollection of learning. 

The initial shock of being taken. The fear, the pain, the horror, had passed. If you can't remember the root of the feelings, how can you feel it? So as the days went by, a feeling of numbness settled on him. The feeling of nothing. Of course, he thought when he could still think clearly, he could be going insane. But that small, tiny, almost minuscule part of him, didn't let his mind go. It kept it in his crutches, holding on with his last bit of strength.

Julia.