The child lay atop the ground near the pool filled with water lilies, watching the ceiling as if it might fall on him any second, its surface cracked and sagging. The cavern chamber was filled with everturn plants, illuminating the space with soft light that shimmered across the stone and up to the fractured ceiling.
The child noticed: the ceiling here was too low—far too low compared to the high altitude where light had once shone faintly near the insects. That other place had seemed like it had no ceiling at all. The darkness there had swallowed everything.
The child just lay there, taking it all in.
The memories of the insects, and the distant light—once so vivid—now felt far away. Slowly, the child was forgetting his memories—again. And though he didn't want to, he was a child at heart. He tried to remember. Tried to keep it from slipping away. Tried to keep the newly found memories from vanishing, but the more he tried, the faster they fled.
With no place to go, and no one to help, the child was devastated. The memory he didn't want to lose had already evaporated into nothing.
The child was shattered.
He knew he had lost something—but didn't know what. And neither could he search for it. That hurt the most.
He had already forgotten who he was, or where he might have come from. But this... this was something out of a nightmare. Thoughts and memories slipping from a living, thinking mind.
The child knew he couldn't probe further—not successfully. It had always been to no avail. He had lost thoughts before, many times since he had woken up. But this—this—was different. This was unacceptable.
He couldn't just accept the fact that he had lost something—something that he didn't even know—and move on like it was fine.
Because somewhere deep inside, he knew:It wasn't fine.Not by a large margin.
And so, unknowingly, he probed. He probed at his memories, begged his mind to tell him where he had come from, what he might have been. But no answers came.
Only pain.As if his head would burst at any moment.
Pain was all his mind could give.
No matter how much he searched or pressured his thoughts, nothing surfaced. And though he was small—just a child—and unable to control the torrent of feelings inside him, he kept gnawing at his mind.
He knew it was hopeless. But he couldn't stop.
The headache grew—sharpened—until it reached its peak. The child wanted to stop. He begged himself to stop.
But something inside him just wouldn't give up.
He begged and begged, but couldn't stop.
Red blood began to trickle from his nose.First a drop. Then a stream.As if a fountain had burst.
It didn't stop.
The blood seeped, and the headache screamed. The child begged again. And again. But his cruel mind refused. It kept on, endlessly:
What was he?
Where did he come from?
Was it truly him?
Was it him?
What is this?
Is it me?
Who are you?I
s it me?
Am I me?
Me?
How?
What?
What happened?
How could this happen?
What did happen?
The thoughts kicked the boy's head like a hammer.
With every new question, he lost more of his ability to see.To think.To answer.
To answer?
The child couldn't stop it. The flood of thoughts consumed him.
He covered his ears tightly with his hands, crouched on the ground, sitting on his butt. His head throbbed from the burden—the burden of questions with no answers. They gnawed at him. Tore at him.
And slowly, he began to lose himself to madness.
He bashed his head against the nearby stone—the one he had been resting on just moments before.
And then, at last...
He fell into a deep slumber.
Perhaps it might have seemed uncomforting, or even cruel, to someone else.But for him?
It was peace.
At least for a little while—Perhaps... just perhaps...he could have peace,even if only for a very little time.