Have you ever felt so cold, that a single drop of warmth felt like burning heat? That is what I feel like, though I have not been able to feel that shred of warmth. It's almost forbidden to me somehow. This all-knowing cold is encompassed more by fright and the pain of not knowing who you are and WHAT you are...that you have no idea. It kills you the most.

It is a scary thing to be alive and not know anything about yourself. To be in an area you could've grown up in and not retain a single detail about the place. It's the things nightmares are made out of, but you can't simply run away from it. It sticks to you, stays INSIDE you, and you're helpless in its grasp.

What makes me THINK this way? Why DO I think this way? I seem to have it made, or so I thought. I'm alive, and in some odd way, I'm mildly relieved at that. But the details of why elude me, frustrating me to no end. I can't find answers, no matter HOW long I try to find them.

Along with being alive, I have a stable life, a place to call home, and someone who cares about me. Isn't that really what life is all about? Stability and love? I wish I knew. It seems like I should have more somehow...like I should KNOW more.

There're times when it desperately feels like this entire life I live is a lie. I don't know HOW a life can be a lie, could be a false application of something. It struck me in my mind recently and refuses to leave. It also plagues me with more questions than I want to ask, than I care to think about.

What am I supposed to think this means? It can't be a sign, other than I spend too much time doing nothing and WAY too much over-thinking. As far as my sister is concerned, I'm not busy enough.

A small smile appears, purely amusement, but partly out of love. My big sister, my life. She helps me whenever I feel like a frost has taken over my veins. My eyes narrow as that thought is contemplated. Ah...the frost. It's the only way I can think to explain it. I don't know the details of THAT, but it feels like there's something so familiar about being so cold...

But that's absurd, I know. How can the cold be familiar? I've never traveled to cold areas... The nights have never been utterly freezing where we travel... Then what can I say to explain that wry, odd comment?

A quick, almost mirthful shake swished my odd hairstyle. There's nothing I CAN say to explain such a thing. Thoughts come to me as unbidden as the strangest instances in my life. It is odd that I think so much, since it seems prohibited. But I don't know WHY... A person has a right to think, don't they?

A quick walk from the tent reveals nightfall. A brow rises when I realize my thinking has become more involved in my spare time. There're things to do, packing that needs to be done for tomorrow.

My eyes stop on a fire barrel not too far from my tent and I walk to it, eyes locked to the red and yellow flames. They're almost hypnotic the way they dance in the cool breeze. And somehow, I feel comforted by being close to the heat, by staring at the red and yellow. Red and yellow...

An intense shiver, probably one of my worse 'spells', overtook me. I huddle closer to the fire, nearly touching my sweater to the flames in my haste to warm up. The cold has nothing to do with the temperature, though it IS a tad cold outside. I don't notice that as much as I do this internal frost, and the sudden unlocked gate that sent my mind in a flurry of observation.

Fire. It's all around me. Red and yellow, but not from the flames. The heat isn't felt. In fact, I'm quite far from it. My hands grip something, but what I can't be certain. The feel is imprinted in my hands and when I close my eyes, it almost feels like I'm touching it. The area around me means nothing, though I don't recognize the place. It's practically a burnt cinder. Somehow, I know I was the one responsible for the inferno. Me...and the beast I rode in.


My eyes jerk open and stare at the fire until it hurt to do so. What beast is red and yellow? Why do I recall being so high from the ground, yet not afraid, that it seemed like second nature?

My eyes squeeze shut as the odd memory sank into the recesses of my mind, locked shut in their depths. Almost dishearten by going back to this current, pleasant life I hold, I turn away from the fire barrel and to my tent. It would do no good to dwell on it, I figure. Dwelling on things that frustrated my docile nature was only going to get me a concerned look from Cathy.

I look to her tent, and vow that she wouldn't have to worry herself so much over my well-being anymore. She did so much for me already, as if she were worried for me more than she needed to be. I knew there was a war going on; I wasn't THAT blind to the outside. Thinking or hearing of the war changes my mannerisms, though I couldn't remember being a participant. It gave me a bold assertion that I never felt inside the circus.

Going back to the dark inside of my tent, I flop on my bed, my rampant mind not giving up anytime soon. If there was a REASON for all of this, I might as well find the source of the problem so I could get SOME sleep tonight. Though, for another eluding reason, I don't seem to need much.

Staring at the ceiling, also contemplating why I always wake in the middle of the night feeling refreshed, hands prop behind my head. It was all so odd, to feel as though I wasn't myself, and was at the same time. How could you not be yourself? That was the oddest question to cross my mind, yet it had some strength in the strangeness.

I turn to one side and stare at the canvas at the other edge. Why couldn't I remember anything other than a few weeks ago? Surely I could remember SOMETHING from my childhood, or even adolescence. When I asked Cathy if she'd share something with me, a funny memory or even a sad one, she only chastised me about being lazy and sent me to work. Even though I did as she wished, wondering if what I ask was too much for her to bear, I always caught a worried, sorrowful look. As if directed my way and not on the question I asked. But how could that be? What would my sister have to be worried about? She wouldn't lose me, since we're all we have.

I never knew she had a temper, as was typical for redheads. I always thought that an old wife's tale. Catherine was so happy and boisterous. But not too long ago, she became truly angry. I couldn't help but listen, ready to make the person sorry they ever made my sister mad. But...that person...the things he SAID...

My eyes squeeze shut. Possibly the worst frost overtook me during that visit. Catherine helped me, as she always did, but I only stared at the black clothed visitor in silent pleading and hopeful recognition. It sure SEEMED like I knew him...

What was his name again? Fingers press against my head, wishing to recall something that I KNEW I knew. He seemed sorry, as if he were overly concerned for me. His eyes showed it.

His eyes. I never met a person with violet eyes until that day.

What was his NAME?! It still eluded me. Thinking about it did no better. My palms absently rub together, finding them chilled. Chilled? How could my hands be cold when I was clad in a turtleneck? But as much as I wore, no matter the thickness of my sweater, I still felt cold in my veins. It was as if I stepped into an ice lake and couldn't shake off the effects. Or was standing in the middle of a raging blizzard with no way to escape.

The thought didn't comfort me, and only increased the cold. Shivers overtook me once again, so close to the last time. What did THAT mean? I huddle into the tightest ball that I could manage, even covering my frame with the comforter on my bed.

Cold...I was so COLD...

The chills wracked my body, chattering my teeth, and spasming my muscles in the hopes for retaining a little warmth. Eyes squeeze shut, visions came rushing back again.

The long braid. Violet eyes. Shorter than me, but with a wit and optimism that surpassed us all.

Us? Who was US? My mind didn't answer, it just kept showing me things I didn't know I experienced.

The youth brought someone with him, someone I immediately felt sorry for with no explanation as to WHY. He held the look of sorrow in his eyes, even though he wouldn't meet mine.

Blonde hair. Well dressed. His name was just out of reach, as was the other. He spoke my name, and his eyes held hope of recognition, just as mine once did. I didn't know him then, and I STILL don't know him. But...why do I feel as if I DID? What IS this feeling?

Along with the memories came feelings that I never thought I experienced. Ever.

What were the names of these feelings? What were their given names?

An odd sensation in my stomach was mildly unpleasant, but wanted at the same time. These emotions were churning there... I craved it, but didn't know why. It unnerved me to a point where I wanted to crawl from my tent and hide from this newest turn of events. Even though I was scared at all the things unveiling inside my body and mind, I embraced them. Somehow, they were a part of me. Even though I didn't know, I still kept them inside somehow. Sometime in my life, I HAD to've met these people, stood next to them, fought alongside them.

My eyes jerk open. Fought!?

The episode finally subsided when I was startled by that small announcement. It was like turning the off switch to a faucet. Curious.

Regaining my composure seemed second nature again, though I didn't know why. That simple, three lettered word was severely ANNOYING. Not having information about my life suddenly angered me to a point that surprised me. Hadn't I been ABLE to feel anger before now? Hadn't I been able to FEEL this before now?

The answer whispered in my head. No... I immediately accept that, though I didn't question its whereabouts for the first time tonight.

Standing from my bed as if someone else, I quietly walk from the tent with my usual grace. Stoic faced, I stop in front of the fire and stare at it with hard eyes. Everyone else had vacated by now, though I wasn't amazed. My episodes sometimes lasted a while.

I stare at the flames, memorized again, but as if I wasn't the me who lived at the circus and had a sister named Catherine. I feel an instinctual power from somewhere as I was able to concentrate.

Red and yellow... Those colors never held much meaning, until tonight. Heat pressed to my skin, but I knew it was cold to the touch. I was a winter storm, my insides frostbitten. How long would I remain this cold?

My eyes close. Perhaps the rest of my life? Would I ever remember my life then? Would ANY of this make sense?

The flames cast a small, yellowish haze against the black behind my lids. Yellow...blondish yellow. The boy.

Emerald snaps open and I continue to stare at the flames again, feeling sure of myself for a split second. Yes...I knew that sorrowful boy. He seemed so kind, and so sad that I didn't remember him at the time, or seemed to hold any connection to him. What made me remember? It could've been the simple fact that my spells appeared to come in shorter gaps. That had to mean SOMETHING.

My eyes close again with the intent to picture his face, hoping that would jog another spell...and more memories. He was easy to picture, those odd blue eyes full of pain. His features were sharp as a tack in my memory. I had a good memory, nearly impeccable.

My brow furrows in minutely concentration, though it was true. I DID have a good memory. Nearly photographic. Apparently, it was choosing NOW to be selective.

His face still showed up despite the inane musings and my odd humor. I didn't really HAVE a sense of humor; that was Duo's department.

My eyes jerk open.

Duo? His face flashed in my memory and I connect them. It just SOUNDED right. I run the name over my tongue, whispering it in the quiet. Yes...that was who visited me and jogged the cold spell. But who was the OTHER? He was important; it was important I remember his name. I was certain if I did, the pieces would come together faster. They would come together PERIOD.

Hands shoved into my jeans pockets. My eyes close and I picture his face, seeing a kind and gentle person instead of a sad, depressed one. Yes...he had been kind once.

My brow furrow again, these unbidden thoughts coming out of nowhere. It intrigued me that a single person could turn my world upside down in the matter of a day. But, I felt as if he already had. He and I...we were friends?

Friends. I ran that in my mind, and it felt right. This unnamed boy and I were friends from some other place and time. If I would ever see him again, I'd be sure to ask him about it, when Cathy wasn't present.

As if reaching an agreement over some invisible knowledge, knowledge that was slowly slipping away into my mind again, I look back to the fire. It still blew in the night wind, but not as much from time. It was dying out, signaling that I, once again, spent too much time thinking. But this was more productive than trying to respond to questions I had no answers to.

Feeling my old self again, I slowly turn to my tent for the last time, intent to get some sleep.

It didn't hit me until I rested on my bed and habitually pulled the covers to my chin to ward off the inner cold. Thinking about the blond boy and the returned memories did something to me. Something GOOD.

On a rare instance, I take the covers and shove them to my waist, where they rested. Remembering that boy and those unbidden thoughts in my mind did more than help me remember and piece together small bits of an incredibly large puzzle. I didn't notice it at first, so intent on remembering, but the cold wasn't so much. I wasn't so cold anymore.

With a small, almost grateful smile, my eyes close. Whatever this boy meant to me, friend or something I couldn't remember, he had to be SOMETHING to chip away at the winter frost nestled in my veins. When the time came, if we were ever destined to meet again, I have to find a way to THANK him.