Anastasia 22-8-93

Two hands, two feet, ten fingers, ten toes.

Shh, quiet…

What is that noise?

My heart. Wait…my heart? Why is this… thing in my chest beating harder, faster?

No! No, no, no…

They’ve got me.

Panic rises in my chest, it splashes around within me. It wraps it’s cold fingers around my throat, suffocating me.

This can’t be it.

I hear myself speaking, yet my mouth does not move.

I can’t have been captured, I’m not one of those things which we do not speak of.

I can’t be… human.

Only those who dream, those who destroyed this world, the world our people survived on, are extinct.

Although, these…things are the only creatures who can dream, the only beings who use their own minds to speak from within.

Here I speak, sitting on the cold ground, in a dark room. The damp smell of concrete lingers in the air, but the scent is not unfamiliar.

Are my eyes open, is my mouth closed?

Is this a dream?

Am I a dreamer?

The posters on the walls explain that dreamers are those who ruined the world which existed before my time. Dreamers made this world crumble. The dreamers are the ones who dug their blade deep into the Earth’s chest, and watched as it’s dark crimson blood seeped out, as the very essence of all life diminished. The Dreamers are the one’s who extinguished the heat of the Sun, and cast the world into never-ending darkness. The dreamers are the ones who, out of sheer sheer selfish-ness and greed, destroyed the life and soul of the planet on which I stand now.

I reminisce on my past life. What have I become? Am I no longer who i think I am? Was my soul always human, or has the anguish begun seeping into my skin like radioactive material?

The clock is ticking, but there aren't any numbers, as if it’s only purpose was to slowly gnaw into my brain with every second that passes. The ticking picks up it’s pace, the sound morphing from a tick into a twirl. It’s light time.

No sound accompanies the sudden, intense burn of light time. My body is encapsulated in bright yellow luminescence.

My eyes finally adjust to the shift in tone, and I am no longer scared of my mind speaking from within. Something sparkles on the floor underneath the clock. As I inch closer, the sweet smell of roses fill my nostrils, it fills me with a bizarre feeling of peace. Immediately, my first instinct is to back away, still untrusting of this foreign emotion. But as I move closer, an image begins forming in my mind. It’s a light-haired being, her arms reaching out to me. She is the scent of roses, and the feeling of peace. With two hands and ten fingers, she holds out a beautiful, small something. I reach to touch the something. The feeling of peace enhances, until it’s almost overwhelming. As she places the thing into my calloused hands, she simply dissolves into thin air. She is gone, but the feeling stays, it washes over me, and cleans my soul. The thing I hold onto is a small locket in the shape of a heart. A clasp is attached on the side, worn out in such a way as if it had been held down by someone’s mouth. I flip the locket around between my fingertips. On the back, etched into the metal; Anastasia 22-8-93.

The word carved into this golden heart is my name, and the numbers carved underneath this name are similar to the numbers that my parents gave me that began my life. The year is no longer 93, but 3023. Was the woman in my mind, the lady who smelt of rose and human-ey, was she me? Was she the definition of our name, the resurrection? Is this the message from the past that those in control have been trying to find since the world went into war with the planets above?