𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑-𝐌𝐀𝐍..
Not all heroes get remembered and surely not all heroes have it all; this story is about the hero who was never where she was supposed to be. Wrong place, wrong time, life gets confusing until a...
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In the infinite lack of time that pierced our beings inside the void, in that unconscious moment between nothingness and the call of the energy I borrowed from the Multiverse, missing their true host like I forever miss the home I cannot recall, I felt the swipe of memory take over and turn me into sand swirling under a wave. Only instead of golden dust and blue hymnal clash of foams, behind my open eyes seeing nothing at all, the imbibing was of deep, prune purple.
Violets danced into the darkness and from both sides of my head, from the two hits which would leave a bruise for sure, sprung aches tough enough to fade everything else outside my mind to a whimper. All but Peter's hand. That I felt and I shall feel, I reckon, even if this pain kills me.
From little speckled tones of lilac, I watched the shades grow darker, until from the depths of the subconscious, a clearer picture crawled out into a view with blurred margins, with hidden objects and burns; like a very old picture, it was imperfect and hard to understand anymore, but it was there, which counted as far more than all I have ever gotten before.
Perhaps I hit my head so hard that it cracked the barrier around my memories, the rapidity of my heart could only accelerate not from the amount of excitement that thought brought me. Thankfully, even if I had a heart attack from it just then, I wouldn't be feeling anything, not when I dove into that remembrance completely.
Apart from a blur of a room with walls made of hard stone and bricks glued one over the other, there was too one more person there with me. I am confident nothing comes close to the level of confusion of feeling Peter's hand in mine, looking down and seeing nothing but the tiny hands of a child, hands I did not remember having.
Well, of course, I was quick to frown too, I didn't remember my childhood... Though now that I say it again, it feels like I needed that to be true.
It was too late to back away from the immersive experience of my mysterious fragment of a memory returned, because it already started playing out. There was a woman with me.
Over sixteen years taught me how to blend in the background and how to best observe the world; widening my eyes was just about the most I could do to show interest back then as well, it seemed. I followed this woman intently, without sitting up from the table she roamed around, almost floating. Her robes flattered echoes of cloths slapping the air in whips from her sharp tones. She was old, but not the sort of old to whiten her dark hair, unbrushed through.
