Status: active
Forgotten
Prologue
I remember waking up and not much else. My entire life is just one huge blur, a never ending din of silence; haunting yet beautifully orchestrated. They say that silence is deafening; how right they are. Many used to tell me that I would remember everything one day, that the silence would finally dissipate and I would see clearly what everyone just seemed to inherently know. Some still appear to hold onto such pipe dreams. I, however, learned quite quickly that it was pointless, there was no escape from the hell that I’d been condemned to.
I don’t remember any of the stories that they tell me. Sure, I recall the tales after they’ve been related to me, especially after the thousandth time that they tell me, each time hoping that it’ll finally click. It’s the actual events that mean next to nothing to me. Of course, everyone gets more discouraged each time that nothing changes in my face after I’ve been told what may as well be a faerie tale, a grandiose fabrication made for my entertainment… or theirs, whichever seemed to fit the bill. I had no real place in their history no matter how much everyone insisted otherwise. It didn’t matter what they said to me, I couldn’t remember.
And therein laid the root of the problem: I couldn’t remember. There was nothing to be done about it really. I could vaguely recall my ‘awakening’, but everything after that is a mess of nothingness until I woke in the Hold almost 300 years ago. I sometimes feel the faint reckoning of emotions that accompany the endless tales that are reiterated for my benefit on a daily basis; even some from parts that no one would remember, or have any reason to know in the first place. However, I don’t know whether to attribute them to some kind of cathartic release or empathetic calling, or as everyone else dreams, sympathetic suffering. I can feel the loss of a long since passed mortal existence, but it seems too good to be true. My mind cannot recall anything, but my heart appears to cry for the life that used to be mine; the urgency of a deadline. It’s an empty feeling that haunts the depths of my subconscious more frequently than naught.
I’m sure that any mortal would tell me that I’m lucky. I’ve been granted a gift keeping the sands of time from marring my physical body, and allows me and my kind to pass the knowledge of the past onto the future through a firsthand account. I can see the world change a million times over without worry. What they don’t understand however, aside from the point that I my memories have been lost to the river Lethe, is that I do not possess the drive to live as they do. Whist mortals scamper about the world trying to leave some lasting impact that will supersede their bodies’ misgivings, we have time to spare. Whatever experiences that mortals must squeeze into such a short lifespan, has been spread out for us. We have been allotted an eternity in this life; time to spare and then some more. So no, it is not I who experiences the blessings of a long life, it is they who must strive for the fulfilling feeling of the short time here.
Sometimes, if I concentrate hard enough, I can remember a vague sense of longing for the life that I have now. I was one of them I guess, blinded by ever alluring fruits of an eternity of knowledge, and more maybe. There’s always that small sense of longing in my heart, as if I had been dazzled not by the richness of a life such as this, but by the opportunity to feel… whole. Everyone tells me that I was impulsive and young; though what could they have possibly known about the inner workings of my mind at the time. I don’t remember any of it, but I’m forced to take their word for it because I don’t remember anything to counter their arguments. They’ve told me that I was madly in love, and so was he. But the ‘he’ that they all rave and worship doesn’t exist in my memory. I don’t remember having anyone with me at the time. I suppose that it was a man, or the equivalent of one, that turned me. Or, excuse me, saved me. They say that he is beautiful and powerful, and that he should never have chosen a selfish girl like me. He seems to be admired by everyone around me, but what they can’t seem to understand is that I have no recollection of such a man. How can I be expected to love someone who I do not know? His acts seem to be quite admirable, but I have no other impression of such a man other than what I’m told.
They don’t get it. They can’t understand that even the memories from the first few days, or millennias if I’m to take their word on it, are just these huge black holes that suck up everything. Whenever I’ve tried to remember what happened in those days, I lose bits and pieces of the person that’s left of me. There have been whole weeks that have literally just disappeared from my head due to my reckless digging through the darkness. There have been instances when I’ve wondered if there is ever going to be a time where I would know myself better than everyone else seems to, but I’ve long since given up attempting to see past the black hole that swallows everything that was once me.
There are days when I find myself cowering away and craving the family that I don’t recall ever having. I feel the missing presence of an older brother that died long ago; longer than I care to imagine. I recall a mother that died in childbirth for a younger sibling; of which that I can’t ever perceive having. I don’t remember my father at all, and even when I attempt to think of him I find that it’s simply too difficult. I thought that maybe he was tall, but no one can remember him or even if I had ever presented my father to them. The mistress has told me that I likely took my sire to meet my father, but she knows that she wasn’t the one to meet him. She can’t even recall my ever having a family to begin with, but I can tell that she’s lying to me. I don’t know how, but I know that she’s hiding something important from me.
I’ve come to the conclusion that everyone is lying to me, but I don’t have the right information to call them out on it. They’ve all told me that I’m fragile, which is why I’m constantly provided with a “guard”. I know though, the guard is there to observe what I do and report it back to the mistress. I know, I’ve always known. They’re secretly afraid of me, but I really don’t understand why. I’ve been told for years that I’ll never be strong enough to go out on my own ,and I’ll be just like a “newborn” for the rest of my life; relying on the presence of others for survival. However, everyone’s wariness of me seems to contradict everything that they say, so I don’t know quite what to believe; my instincts seem far more trustworthy than their lies however.
A rumor has been floating around that ‘he’ is coming back. The entire house has been abuzz with activity. There are worker running about making preparations for some sort of dance. The mistress pulled me aside a few days ago. Since then, I’ve been thrown into fittings for the most elaborate dress that I’ve ever worn . . . I think. The mistress told me that my sire is returning, and that she expects me to be on my best behavior; not that I’d do anything less. What she really means is that she doesn’t want me to ruin his visit with my pessimistic doomsday attitude, and that she doesn’t want me to bore him with my apathetic disposition about my station in life. I don’t know why she still does this. Every time a prestigious member of the immortal community is set to visit I’m given a “talk” about how I should behave while they’re with us. Well, at least she has for the past 300 years, maybe more; I can’t remember. But this time, I think that I may actually listen. It just feels different this time. It’s like my cold existence is finally warming up. It’s like the presence of my sire may be the key to the memories that have disappeared. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll finally be the person that I was meant to be. . .
I don’t remember any of the stories that they tell me. Sure, I recall the tales after they’ve been related to me, especially after the thousandth time that they tell me, each time hoping that it’ll finally click. It’s the actual events that mean next to nothing to me. Of course, everyone gets more discouraged each time that nothing changes in my face after I’ve been told what may as well be a faerie tale, a grandiose fabrication made for my entertainment… or theirs, whichever seemed to fit the bill. I had no real place in their history no matter how much everyone insisted otherwise. It didn’t matter what they said to me, I couldn’t remember.
And therein laid the root of the problem: I couldn’t remember. There was nothing to be done about it really. I could vaguely recall my ‘awakening’, but everything after that is a mess of nothingness until I woke in the Hold almost 300 years ago. I sometimes feel the faint reckoning of emotions that accompany the endless tales that are reiterated for my benefit on a daily basis; even some from parts that no one would remember, or have any reason to know in the first place. However, I don’t know whether to attribute them to some kind of cathartic release or empathetic calling, or as everyone else dreams, sympathetic suffering. I can feel the loss of a long since passed mortal existence, but it seems too good to be true. My mind cannot recall anything, but my heart appears to cry for the life that used to be mine; the urgency of a deadline. It’s an empty feeling that haunts the depths of my subconscious more frequently than naught.
I’m sure that any mortal would tell me that I’m lucky. I’ve been granted a gift keeping the sands of time from marring my physical body, and allows me and my kind to pass the knowledge of the past onto the future through a firsthand account. I can see the world change a million times over without worry. What they don’t understand however, aside from the point that I my memories have been lost to the river Lethe, is that I do not possess the drive to live as they do. Whist mortals scamper about the world trying to leave some lasting impact that will supersede their bodies’ misgivings, we have time to spare. Whatever experiences that mortals must squeeze into such a short lifespan, has been spread out for us. We have been allotted an eternity in this life; time to spare and then some more. So no, it is not I who experiences the blessings of a long life, it is they who must strive for the fulfilling feeling of the short time here.
Sometimes, if I concentrate hard enough, I can remember a vague sense of longing for the life that I have now. I was one of them I guess, blinded by ever alluring fruits of an eternity of knowledge, and more maybe. There’s always that small sense of longing in my heart, as if I had been dazzled not by the richness of a life such as this, but by the opportunity to feel… whole. Everyone tells me that I was impulsive and young; though what could they have possibly known about the inner workings of my mind at the time. I don’t remember any of it, but I’m forced to take their word for it because I don’t remember anything to counter their arguments. They’ve told me that I was madly in love, and so was he. But the ‘he’ that they all rave and worship doesn’t exist in my memory. I don’t remember having anyone with me at the time. I suppose that it was a man, or the equivalent of one, that turned me. Or, excuse me, saved me. They say that he is beautiful and powerful, and that he should never have chosen a selfish girl like me. He seems to be admired by everyone around me, but what they can’t seem to understand is that I have no recollection of such a man. How can I be expected to love someone who I do not know? His acts seem to be quite admirable, but I have no other impression of such a man other than what I’m told.
They don’t get it. They can’t understand that even the memories from the first few days, or millennias if I’m to take their word on it, are just these huge black holes that suck up everything. Whenever I’ve tried to remember what happened in those days, I lose bits and pieces of the person that’s left of me. There have been whole weeks that have literally just disappeared from my head due to my reckless digging through the darkness. There have been instances when I’ve wondered if there is ever going to be a time where I would know myself better than everyone else seems to, but I’ve long since given up attempting to see past the black hole that swallows everything that was once me.
There are days when I find myself cowering away and craving the family that I don’t recall ever having. I feel the missing presence of an older brother that died long ago; longer than I care to imagine. I recall a mother that died in childbirth for a younger sibling; of which that I can’t ever perceive having. I don’t remember my father at all, and even when I attempt to think of him I find that it’s simply too difficult. I thought that maybe he was tall, but no one can remember him or even if I had ever presented my father to them. The mistress has told me that I likely took my sire to meet my father, but she knows that she wasn’t the one to meet him. She can’t even recall my ever having a family to begin with, but I can tell that she’s lying to me. I don’t know how, but I know that she’s hiding something important from me.
I’ve come to the conclusion that everyone is lying to me, but I don’t have the right information to call them out on it. They’ve all told me that I’m fragile, which is why I’m constantly provided with a “guard”. I know though, the guard is there to observe what I do and report it back to the mistress. I know, I’ve always known. They’re secretly afraid of me, but I really don’t understand why. I’ve been told for years that I’ll never be strong enough to go out on my own ,and I’ll be just like a “newborn” for the rest of my life; relying on the presence of others for survival. However, everyone’s wariness of me seems to contradict everything that they say, so I don’t know quite what to believe; my instincts seem far more trustworthy than their lies however.
A rumor has been floating around that ‘he’ is coming back. The entire house has been abuzz with activity. There are worker running about making preparations for some sort of dance. The mistress pulled me aside a few days ago. Since then, I’ve been thrown into fittings for the most elaborate dress that I’ve ever worn . . . I think. The mistress told me that my sire is returning, and that she expects me to be on my best behavior; not that I’d do anything less. What she really means is that she doesn’t want me to ruin his visit with my pessimistic doomsday attitude, and that she doesn’t want me to bore him with my apathetic disposition about my station in life. I don’t know why she still does this. Every time a prestigious member of the immortal community is set to visit I’m given a “talk” about how I should behave while they’re with us. Well, at least she has for the past 300 years, maybe more; I can’t remember. But this time, I think that I may actually listen. It just feels different this time. It’s like my cold existence is finally warming up. It’s like the presence of my sire may be the key to the memories that have disappeared. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll finally be the person that I was meant to be. . .
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This is the first installment of my first original story!!! I know that this is in my description but I'll say it again; this is NOT a vampire story!!! Also, I know that the chapter might be a little confusing, but I promise that things will eventually be made perfectly clear.Comment and review, but please be nice
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