Memory

She stood there naked, staring into the mirror, disregarding the cold chill in the air. How could it be so cold here? Ten miles to the north it was hot, so hot you felt like your blood was boiling. She stared at her red skin. How long had she lain in that sun for her skin to turn so red? It was fading. She was told it was much worse. Aloe had been applied to her entire body, warm baths to try to draw some of the heat out. At least her skin no longer hurt when she touched something. The Healer had been able to take away the pain, albeit several days after she was initially found. It was really only the front of her that was burned. Her back was pale, almost a pasty white. She was told that was her normal skin tone. She was told she was not from here. From Aragar. 

Slowly, almost reluctantly her eyes studied her reflection. She studied the way her hip bones jutted, the ribs she could see beneath her skin. Her breasts were small, almost shriveled. She was gaunt, starved. She stared at her hands, long, thin fingers, bony wrists. She looked like Death walking. 

She was told she was lucky to have survived. She was told she'd been missing for thirteen years. Beyond the gauntness and the sunburn, there was not a mark on her. The Healer told her she had broken a leg at some point in the past and fractured some ribs, but they had all healed well. The Healer told her she had borne a child, too. 

A child. She couldn't remember that. One would think she'd remember carrying a child in her womb for nine months and birthing him or her. One would think she'd remember whether it was a boy or a girl. Who its father was. She was told she had never married. 

They didn't tell her much beyond those basics. They wanted her memories to come back on their own. With a sigh, she finally lifted her eyes to study her face. 

Her hair was as white as snow. She was told it had always been that way, it was not a result of age (for she was not yet in her middle years) and it was not a result of whatever happened to her in the Waste. The Waste. Everyone shuddered when they spoke of it. They feared it, they hated it, they protected against the creature's in it. She knew inside that she should fear it too, but she couldn't bring herself to. She felt like she knew no fear. That whatever had happened to her over the last thirteen years had wiped away any traces of things to fear. 

She studied her sunken cheekbones, already filling out a bit from the regular meals. Her lips were a pale pink, her nose of average size and shape, maybe a tiny bit crooked. The Healer said it had probably been broken three or four times at least. 

It was the eyes that she kept trying to avoid. Finally she met them. Emerald green with tiny gold flecks in them. She was told that once those flecks danced when she spoke, laughed or fought. But now they were dead. 

Like her memory. Like her. 

She had to fight it. She was told she was a fighter once upon a time. As she studied her eyes, she spotted a few of the flecks begin to move as she thought about fighting to find out about herself, about her past. Slowly, she smiled. 

She would regain her memory. That was the only thing that would explain who she was. That was the only thing that would make her eyes dance again. That was the only thing that would explain the two separate bundles of....something that were in the back of her head. They pulled at her, tugged her in different directions. 

Memory. One never realizes how important one's memories are until they are lost.