The tree, dripping with blood. I hear their wails—who are they even?

I reach out for the whispers of memory, yet they evade my grasp. Sometimes, I suddenly gasp from an absent pain—it’s like, for an instant my whole body has this searing ache—then it’s gone.

I remember a caring touch, I almost remember a voice. It’s like that feeling you get when your mother hugs you; it’s like you’re home, like you’re safe.

Then all I feel is the cold, the darkness, the fear, the /where am I?/ It feels damp down here—the tree is gone. It feels like I’m remembering… something.

Then it all slips away.