1 The Memories

I open my eyes and see a white ceiling. Everything is dark, the only sound that accompanies me is the...beep... beep... of a cardiac machine.

(So I had an accident), I just remember working in the archive but the files dropped and as I got up something heavy hits me and nothing else. Somebody most has found me, but saving me is just a type of torture that continues day after day. Nightmares plague my mind while trying to sleep but once I wake up, drenched in a cold sweat and panting for breath, I can't remember anything.

I don't have any memories of my past, only my name, Czarina Solovyova, is Russian. So I suppose I'm from there, (but I can't be sure as I have nothing to identify me.) Many people have said that maybe my parents came from Russia and abandoned me here in the USA. Do I even have parents? I don't know for the only thing that I can remember if I concentrate enough is a cold, snowy day, voices in the distance, a moon so bright that it seems to touch the earth and a scream. If I try to recollect any more my head hurts, and sometimes I can even faint.

The Beep from the machine brings me back to the present.

"Haaa…" I can only sight, what do I do now? If a nurse comes and sees me up, she will try to persuade me to go to a psychologist, but they will find that my mental stability is fine and say:

"You're suffering from stress due to amnesia, just take it slow." They give me some pills and a firm "You're going to be fine." Well, I'm not fine, thank you very much. I just want to find the purpose of this life, that feels so empty. A hole that never fills, the piece that is never found, I just want to find the truth to my existence.

I sit up, disconnect the machine and open the door. I see that everything is quiet, so maybe it is late, and I am in the normal patient's ward and of course, at this time there are no visitors. My feet can't feel the coldness of the floor. Putting my hand on the wall, I can imagine it as a large canvas, full of colours, I want to paint so much to give some light to this stuffy and monotonous place.

I hear a pair of footsteps; I hide behind a water dispenser, the footsteps stop and I try to not even breathe; a moment later they're gone, "Fuu...that was close." I whisper.

Likewise, I take the stairs. I want to go to the roof like an instinct that is moving me. As I got to the top, at last I locate the door to the rooftop, for a second I'm afraid that it may be locked but as I hear the click I sight in relief. As soon as it is open, the wind hits my face ruffling my dark hair, and the night makes way to the light of the distant city like a picture, but nothing of that is important for there is a figure standing in the rail looking to the city.

It is tall, with a graceful body shape, strong muscular arms and the hair is long nearly touching the floor if the wind didn't play with it. I am so mesmerized that my body won't move as the man, for it definitely is a man, looks behind him to me and I nearly lose strength in my legs. I see bloodstained clothes that I didn't notice before, but the main reason is that the eyes that watch even the smallest of movement, are red like the blood in his hands.