Lost

Her bare feet swing over the gnarled branch and land without a sound on the dusty ground, not even so much as a twig cracking in the still night. Once, a long time ago, she had walked on two legs, but now she felt more comfortable bending over on her hands. As she silently lopes through the disfigured trees, her eyes flash in the gloom, the blue eyes once hailed as "darling" now eerily wild amid the yellow-tinged whites. Her uncontrollable yellow curls stop short at the bottom of her neck, having been hacked off with a sharp stone. Vaguely, she could remember how she spent so much time making sure they looked pretty, but now they were tangled and muddy and wet, but she didn't care.

That time, so long ago. So, so long ago. It hid in the depths of her memory, but she couldn't remember much, and didn't care to try. She didn't think all that much, just acted. But how long ago had it been? But here in the forest, there was no time. There was action, and there was reaction, just a string of incidents. Day passed and night came, then night passed and day came, but in the end, wasn't it all just the same day and all the same night?

As she struggled to grasp the ideas, she decided to stop. Thinking hurt. And there ahead, what was that? She parted the thorny bush, pricking her fingers as she did so, and saw it was only a boulder. Frowning, she suddenly sat down hard on the ground and studied the ruby red droplets trickling down her tanned skin. Once that skin had been rosy pink, and once that arm had been just a little plump. Now the bones showed through the weathered, scratched skin, but what did that mean?

That long time ago, there were people. They lived in a box. No. Not a box. Something like a box. A . . . a . . . it began with an 'h'. That, she remembered. And the people - she didn't remember them at all. She didn't remember any people at all. What did they look like? Were they like her? Did they make noises? Some of the animals in the forest made noises.

A half-forgotten memory surfaced in her mind. She had been sitting on something, a chair. That was the term, a chair. There was something big and flat in front of her, with food on the table. Food! Someone was saying, "Don't put your elbows on the table, Leanne . . ."

That reminded her of how hungry she was. Her eyes sought out something to eat, and landed on a squirrel. Slowly, she crept up to it and then pounced, her sharpened nails digging into its flesh as it squealed in terror. With a crude slash, it went limp, a cry dying on its lips.

The noises the person had made - what were they? What did they mean? She was very puzzled. It sounded like "don't put your elbows on the table, Leanne", so why did she wonder what it meant? It was just a noise, right? Then she suddenly remembered that people made noises that all meant something, they were words!

Words. She hadn't made a word in a while. A long while. She had made roars and screams and grunts and bellows, but no words. Briefly, she wondered if she still could, but then looked down and saw the bleeding squirrel in her hands. How did it get there? Oh yes, she had killed it.

Eyebrows furrowed as she thought about those troublesome words, she brought the squirrel to her mouth and took a bite, the tough, stringy meat dripping with red. Leanne. Hadn't that meant something special? It did, didn't it?

Another memory suddenly came to her. Flames burning the house, acrid smoke everywhere that choked her. She remembered flinging herself on the wet grass, under moonlight just like this, coughing. Then her brother had stumbled out, eyes bleary and confused. When he had seen her, his eyes widened, and then he burst into flames.

She stared at the squirrel, remembering the smell of burning flesh. Remembering running, running, as fast as she can, remembering the screams behind her.

Quickly, she threw the squirrel and darted away on all fours, until she came to the town. It was a poor town, with the wooden houses very close to one another. Everyone was inside sleeping, and she held the box of matches. Eyes glittering in the moonlight, she lit her third match.