Unnamed

Chapter One

"Awesome tat, dude," someone says, jerking my attention away from the sketchbook in my lap. I smile and thank the person. It's a girl of about my age, with dark hair and light brown eyes. She sits next to me and sticks a hand out. "I'm Ana."

"Namahina," I introduce.

"Awesome!"

I make a face and shake my head. I disagree for two major reasons.

One: Namahina literally means "unnamed."

Two: It's not even my real name.

See, here's the deal. I was found wandering around the city when I was about four. It was a cold winter, and I was dressed in a thin cotton shift. I was unharmed, save for a small scar in the hollow between my collarbones, another small scar on my temple, and a tattoo-like birthmark on my chest, branching up my neck in a vine-like pattern. The very center of it is shaped like a teardrop. Weird, I know.

Well, I didn't know my name or anything else for that matter.

The reason the matrons at the orphanage named me Namahina was because I would say that over and over again. Eventually, the matrons started calling me that, and it stuck.

So, for the last fourteen years, my name has been Namahina Doe.

Not cool.

"Where'd your parents get that name from anyway?" Ana asks conversationally.

I shrug a shoulder. "Beats me."

"That bad?"

"Worse."

"You draw?" Ana questions, eyeing the sketchbook in my lap.

I'm tempted to groan out loud. People don't normally bother with talking to me, especially people my own age. Most people either think it's weird that my legal name is Namahina Doe or they're so fascinated that they think I'm some kind of mystery that they can solve.

It got old real fast.

"Yes," I finally say, letting her see the book.

"Wow. These are really good," she compliments as she's flipping through the sketches.

Most of them are from my dreams. Ever since I was a little kid, from my first human memories, I've had these weird dreams, and I've always drawn the images. Some are simple, the plain gray corridor that I remember running down. Others are of the vine that tripped me in the dreams. Yet others are of a young woman drowning, her legs wrapped up in vines.

And the most confusing of all is him, the man that let me drown.

Now, to be completely truthful, I don't really know that it's really me in the dreams because come on, who has dreams of themselves dying like that, but I think it's true. It just resonates with me in a strange way.

Why was there never any record of my existence before the matrons found me?

Why do I have this weird birthmark?

Why didn't I even know my own name?

Ana's gaze stills on one of the sketches of a man. It's his face, as he gazes down into the pool of water I drowned in. Chiseled features and a straight nose complement almond shaped eyes and slightly pouted lips. A tiny bit of stubble covers his jaw, and a single tear streaks down his cheek.

"Who's this?"

"Just some guy," I lie with a shrug.

He's the one who kills me in the dream. I don't understand why he's crying or why I keep having this dream, but it seems like more than just a dream.