Everything Reminds Me Of That Day
I remember the soft, warm sea wind.
I remember the black sand beaches surrounding the island, a stunning display of bioluminescent sea life on the pitch black shores at night, like looking at the stars above and yet we could dance around in them.
I remember the soft lavender flowers that ran up and down the hills, when the wind blew the flowers danced and formed waves of purple all across the fields.
I remember my people, their houses, their architecture. Every single house had a room dedicated to an open ceiling, so we could lay out at night and look towards the stars.
I remember our yearly celebration of life and remembrance, looking at the path ahead of us and those we lost along the way, honoring their lives instead of mourning what could have been.
But it's all fuzzy now. All I see are blank faces in the spots of my memory that my family used to take up. A throbbing, painful headache when I try to remember their names. Any of their names. There's a spot in my mind where they exist, a spot in my mind I try every day to reach, to remember it again at least once. It had been years now, waking up on the rocky shores of Osteodor, waves crashing against the stones, birds flying ahead. I remember that day as if it was my first day of living, there is nothing before it. And yet... Everywhere I look I am reminded. The glossy black sand beaches near Khomore, the silent, lavender peninsula of the Concord of Bones, the ruins that dot the hills of central Osteodor. They all remind me of a life I'm not even sure I lived. But how could I make up such vivid dreams? I read a language that nobody else know. I keep mannerisms unlike any in Osteodor. I sit on the docks of Khomore and look out at the island. With its black sand beaches and lavender fields. It sits out there, lonely, with no boats to and from, no distant figures on the shores. It isn't there, and yet it is. Look too hard and the headache creeps back in. It exists, it must. The island with no name. The culture with no descendants. The memories with no faces. And me. The person who never existed.
I remember the black sand beaches surrounding the island, a stunning display of bioluminescent sea life on the pitch black shores at night, like looking at the stars above and yet we could dance around in them.
I remember the soft lavender flowers that ran up and down the hills, when the wind blew the flowers danced and formed waves of purple all across the fields.
I remember my people, their houses, their architecture. Every single house had a room dedicated to an open ceiling, so we could lay out at night and look towards the stars.
I remember our yearly celebration of life and remembrance, looking at the path ahead of us and those we lost along the way, honoring their lives instead of mourning what could have been.
But it's all fuzzy now. All I see are blank faces in the spots of my memory that my family used to take up. A throbbing, painful headache when I try to remember their names. Any of their names. There's a spot in my mind where they exist, a spot in my mind I try every day to reach, to remember it again at least once. It had been years now, waking up on the rocky shores of Osteodor, waves crashing against the stones, birds flying ahead. I remember that day as if it was my first day of living, there is nothing before it. And yet... Everywhere I look I am reminded. The glossy black sand beaches near Khomore, the silent, lavender peninsula of the Concord of Bones, the ruins that dot the hills of central Osteodor. They all remind me of a life I'm not even sure I lived. But how could I make up such vivid dreams? I read a language that nobody else know. I keep mannerisms unlike any in Osteodor. I sit on the docks of Khomore and look out at the island. With its black sand beaches and lavender fields. It sits out there, lonely, with no boats to and from, no distant figures on the shores. It isn't there, and yet it is. Look too hard and the headache creeps back in. It exists, it must. The island with no name. The culture with no descendants. The memories with no faces. And me. The person who never existed.
Thanks for sharing! This was a short and sweet article that carried so much mystery and lore right beyond the words. Beautifully written in a way that makes me super curious about your characters and world. Similar to one of the plotlines I've been exploring in my own world. This actually reminds me of an article I wrote for the Plot category, though I debated on whether or not it should have been in Prose. I also included this article in my New Year's Reading Challenge Article. Thanks for helping remind me that it's fine to give these little tidbits of worldbuilding that are mysterious enough to keep readers hooked without revealing too much. Though that is quite my style, I sometimes feel as if doing something like this isn't going to be very satisfying for those who happen upon my work, but this article was very lovely and beautiful. <3
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