Light bursts through my closed eyelids, forcing me to open my eyes, yet I can hardly focus on the world around me. The brightness makes everything seem distant and blurred, as though I’m submerged in fog.

“She’s awake!” A voice cuts through the haze. A woman in a blue outfit is talking, calling out to someone else. Their voices fade in and out of comprehension, like muffled whispers.

I try to sit up but something isn’t right. My body feels foreign. My throat is dry, aching from the lack of use, and all I can manage is a weak croak. “Where am I? And where are my children?”

No one answers. They move around me, busy with other patients—others like me? Wounds, bandages, confusion. My mind swirls with ungraspable thoughts, trying to piece together the fragments of what’s happening, but everything slips away as quickly as it comes.

I reach out instinctively, hoping to grasp onto something, anything. But my arms—they don’t respond. They’re heavy, stiff, like they belong to someone else. Panic rises in my chest.

A man in a white coat steps up, his presence cutting through the fog in my mind. He shines a light in my eyes, his voice even, detached. “Miss, can you tell me your name?”

I try to focus on him, but it feels like I’m looking through water. “It’s… Virginia… Guilin… where are my children?”

He makes a note, clicking a pen. Once, twice. He asks another question, but the words don’t stick. “What do you do for a living?”

I struggle to gather my thoughts, like trying to hold onto sand slipping through my fingers. “I… teach poetry. Yes, I’m a teacher.” It feels right, but why do I feel so uncertain?

“Good. Do you know where you are?” He adjusts his glasses, eyes scanning my face, looking for something.

“Is this… a hospital?” I glance around, hoping for some clarity, but nothing about the sterile white walls brings familiarity.

“Yes,” he responds, flipping through the pages on his clipboard.

“Why… am I here?”

“You had a seizure earlier this morning,” he says, his tone mechanical, as if this is all routine. “You’ve been unresponsive for almost three hours.”

My mind spins. A seizure? That’s… that’s why I’m here? But why can’t I remember? Why do I feel so empty?

The door swings open, and a man walks in—a figure from my life, yet unfamiliar. He wears a black jacket and a hat. My husband? His face is blurry, his voice muffled as he gently takes my hand. His tears fall, his words tangled in emotion I can’t quite catch.

“Don’t worry about the kids,” he says, his voice cracking. “They’re with your parents. It’s okay.”

But I can’t shake the unease. Something isn’t right. Where are my children? Why is everything so distant?

He talks to the doctor, discussing surgery, baseball games, memories—none of it makes sense. His hand leaves mine, and I watch as he steps out of the room with the doctor. The door clicks shut behind them, and I’m alone again, the quiet too loud in my head.

I turn back to the window, and there they are again—blue. So much blue. A sea of blue moving against the sterile whiteness of the walls. The noise of it all, the bustle, the chaos—it makes me feel small.

My throat is sore. My arms feel useless, like they don’t belong. I open my mouth to speak, but it’s barely a whisper.

“Where am I? And where are my children?”

I started to stammer. “What was I saying?” I ask, rubbing my achy forehead. Suddenly two eyes stare at me, my girl best friend and my boyfriend. “Are you okay?” She asked. “The doctor said this would be a side effect from the surgery,” My boyfriend said. “What surgery?” I pleaded. Silence. “What surgery?” I demanded this time. “Do you not remember?” He asked. “No.” Both of their eyes started to water. “Please tell me what’s going on.” “You just went through brain surgery a couple of days ago and you’re starting to lose your memory.” My eyes widen in surprise. What are they talking about? My health’s great. I focused on a golden labradoodle on the other side of the field when I heard whispers. “I think she’s starting to forget. She didn’t even know about the surgery.” Alex—my boyfriend said. “What if she forgets?” My best friend—Rory—Said. “We’ll figure it out when if it goes there. For now, she’ll be going to her treatments, hopefully, she’ll get better.” I turned my head around. “Why so secretive?” I joke, my smile poking out. “Nothing, we’re just concerned for you, but you’ll be fine,” Rory said, her bright smile soothing me. “Can we go get boba?” “Anything for you sweetie,” Alex said. We headed to get boba.

• Boyfriend prospective - “What was I saying?” She asked, rubbing her forehead. She seemed out of it, always looking around, only halfheartedly focused on me. I worried what was going on in her head. What if she was slowly forgetting me? “Do you think it’ll get worse?” Her best friend asked. “I hope not. I’ll be praying though. We have to stay strong for her.” Rory started to cry. “She’ll be okay I promise,” I said, wanting to comfort her but knowing my limits. As we rode in a taxi to get boba, I noticed Emily started to forget things. She couldn’t find her phone, she even looked for her glasses. “Honey?” “Mhm,” She looked up at me for a split second, then looked away. “You didn’t bring your glasses?” “Oh! Found them,” she said, then smiled as she put her glasses on. That put me at ease. She wasn’t fully forgetting anything. “Oo! That boba looks great!” “I’ll buy it, get whatever you’d like,” I said. “Don’t worry I can pay for yours,” Emily said to Rory. “It’s okay I brought money.” “No! I’m paying,” Emily’s playful smile melted me. Even though she wasn’t looking at me, I remembered when she was well mentally. “Are you trying to be funny?” She said, with that playful smirk. “Yes, did it work?” “Hmm… lemme think…. Sure.” I laughed. “Are you going to the theme park?” “Yeah, want to be my date?” “I’d love to.” We held hands off into the sunset. As per usual. “Are you okay?” Emily asked me, bringing me back to reality. “Great.” “Okay good,” She touched my face, “You look distracted.” “Only by you my love.” I could hear Rory giggle behind us. “You guys are making me feel so single even though I have a boyfriend!” Rory joked, poking her head in between us, then disappearing again. We all sat down. “Hey, my rides here I got to go, take care of Emily for me?” “Will do,” I replied. “Bye, Rory!” Both girls hugged, then she was on her way. “This Bobba is so good!” She sung. “What flavor?” “Strawberry, here try mine,” she held up her drink to me. “That is good!” “I know right!” I let her try mine, “Mine is my favorite, but yours is good.” “You know that trend where the boyfriend has better taste and the girlfriend always steals her boyfriend's stuff? I think my taste is better! I’m the one exception to this trend.” “I think so too. How do you have such a knack for this stuff?” “Grow up eating a lot of junk food, and you find yourself figuring out the best combinations.” “Like this?” “Yes. Like this one.” “Mhm,” She smiled. “Let’s go walk around the park.” We walked around the park with our boba, the nice smell of flowers tingling my nose.

  -Emily’s perspective-

Holding his hand felt right. Although you know that feeling you just want to be held by them, although you somehow just can’t get close enough to be satisfied? That’s how I felt. I wrapped my hands around his side as we walked, and he leaned into me. “You’re so beautiful,” He said, moving my hair out of my face. “You’re so handsome, how did I get so blessed?” “I don’t know. You deserve the world you know? I don’t think I deserve you, but I’ll try to make it worth your while.” I felt the blush roll through my face, bolling my body temperature. “You deserve better too, so I’ll try to be better for you.” I hope I’d remeber how well he treated me. What if I forgot about him? Or about my Bestfriend?…

Ness remembers something.

It’s the first time one of us remembered anything about our past before the science experiments and dangerous powers.

I hate Dr. Fucking Marken.

He took everything from us and gave us shitty powers. Super strength is fine. But not when you can’t control how much strength you use.

“Come on, Landen. Controlled blasts, right here,” Penny instructs gently. She has old cans up on an ancient bale of hay. No one else lives near this old barn so we have the whole field to ourselves.

From Penny’s pep talk, we are training. At least enough to take on Marken. That’s all I care about. Messing him up. Potentially maiming him.

Some may think from my aggressive attitude that I would want to kill him. No. That’s too good for Marken. He deserves to pay.

Landen thrusts his hands out and a green energy blast shoots, hurdling towards the cans. Except it completely misses and burns a hole in the hay.

“You at least hit the hay,” Ness says, patting Landen on the back. “You got closer than me.”

There’s an angry scorch mark twenty feet to the left of the cans from her misfired lightning. It impressed me. Even if she missed.

Her memory about her mother and then her kidnapping was a knife in my gut. It reminded me about the empty void in my brain where my….anything should be. My name? My family? Friends? My life.

Who was I before Project Texas?

Landen is still attempting to hit the cans. He’s getting better, the gap narrowing. But not enough. It’s bad enough to get these stupid powers, but uncontrollable ones. Marken really didn’t do us any favors.

How he cared about anything is beyond me.

“Wouldn’t it work better to hit a moving target?” I find myself saying aloud before I even think about it. Everyone turns to me. I don’t cower. I’m used to the looks.

“Are you volunteering?” Penny questions. I could. My super strength is my main ability, but there is the added endurance and stamina. They just aren’t as flashy.

I don’t bruise as easily. Marken made sure of that.

“Sure,” I say with a shrug. No skin off my back. Literally.

Jogging a good distance away from Landen, I wait for the signal that he would start shooting. Penny raises her hand and drops it like in a car race. Why do I remember that but not my own mom?

“Give your best shot, Landy,” I shout, goading him on, hoping that’ll improve his aim.

We all have our weaknesses. His and Ness’s are their aim. They both have so much power behind them that it becomes hard to aim. It’s like a kickback from a shotgun. Mine is how unaware I am with my strength. I could be using it all just to open a can of soda without realizing. Penny’s is her uncontrollable fire once it lights something up. She’s like a wildfire.

Landen tries. He really does. But it isn’t working. I move, but I barely have to dodge anything.

“You’re trying the same thing over and over again. You need to do something different,” Ness points out.

“What would you suggest,” Landen asks in frustration, throwing his hands up, without anything coming out of them this time. I’m glad he isn’t looking at me because I have no idea. My powers are usually contact based so long range isn’t my forte.

“Maybe take a break. Let’s all cool off for a bit,” Penny says. With her words, we all disperse. She’s kind of our defacto leader. Or at least she is the most sane out of all of us. Maybe that’s because she spent the least amount of time with Marken. Or the three of us are just nuts.

With the free time, I can see Landen and Penny talk to one another closer to the barn. I turn around to make a comment to Ness and I don’t see her at first. It takes me a second to realize she laid down flat on the grass.

The tall grass almost hides her whole body. No one kept up with the field’s maintenance. Makes sense. It was unwanted so no one took care of it.

It looked like some weird snow angel. Grass angel, I guess.

“What was it like? Remembering?” I ask, gazing down at her. Everything since she remembered, all I’ve tried to do is recall anything from before. It just leads me to being frustrated and punching a hole in something.

My mind just blanks. I close my eyes and nothing.

It’s easier to be angry and see red than to see darkness.

“I guess it was like dreaming. Lucid dreaming. Ever heard of it?”

I shake my head. I’m more known for my brawn, not my brains. Dreams are just dreams to me.

“It’s when in your dream, you know it’s a dream. I looked at my mom and I knew it was a memory. Even though I can’t recall a single other memory, I knew she was my mom. Even without me in my memory calling her that.”

A cool breeze chills my skin. I study Ness who absently stares at the blueness of the sky. I can’t tell if that was her or not.

I lay down next to her. And try to be like her.

Maybe then I would remember.

“When we have control over our powers, we’ll force Dr. Marken to give us back everything,” she says. She said it as a threat, but I know more than anyone that it’s a promise. 

I crane my neck to the side to look at her. Through the blades of grass, I can see her head tilted upwards. She has a straight face.“What if he can’t?” I can’t help but ask. It’s my biggest fear. I don’t fear much, no reason to. Not much could cause me pain. But not getting memories back? That would hurt.

“Then that sucks for him. Because that’s what we need alive and well him for. Without that, he has nothing over us.” Her voice is soft, kind sounding. No one would ever guess the rage that we all share but particularly Ness and me. Well it’s pretty obvious in me. But Ness is unassuming. So small and nonthreatening. 

In my opinion, that makes her more dangerous. 

More than Penny with her flames. 

More than Landen with his energy blasts.

More than me with super strength. 

She can gain trust. Make you let your guard down. And then she strikes. 

Marken won’t know what hit him. Literally. 

——— (This was so challenging because I don’t write in first person for my characters. It felt really strange!)

Why don’t I remember things? So many memories Gone Gone Gone

I remember my childhood I remember the military But recent memories? Nope Gone Disappeared out of nowhere

I can’t seem to talk normally The words get lost in my mind And I’m angry I’m paranoid But no one seems to know why They look at me as if I’m crazy

But don’t they realize? My memory Is Poof Gone Gone Gone And I have no idea why

I know there’s things I’m missing, things that have been stolen from me by my own being.

That feeling of being left out, of knowing you can’t share your past with others and making connection almost impossible is me.

It characterizes me.

Embodies me.

I don’t feel drowned, no, I feel blasted into oblivion whenever I try to search for things that aren’t there—erased from existence because I don’t have a simple thing.

I know it’s something so small, but I feel…inhuman. Is memory loss supposed to start this young? Is it supposed to feel like this? This emptiness.

I can’t remember my first day of school; my last day. I can’t even remember last year, what I did, what I didn’t do. I can only remember faces, bodies, smiles. No words, no dialogue, no scenery or smells.

And when I hear people, children, teachers, talking about their favorite memories, writing about them, I feel….

So I lie, I create things from my dreams and convince myself it’s reality. Is it a bad thing that it works? Sometimes I don’t know whether something’s true or not because I’ve told myself over and over again that it’s happened.

Maybe that’s why I’m a good liar. Maybe that’s why my own parents don’t trust me. Because of me of who I am!

Or maybe I’m just thinking stuff over again.

Am I real…or is this all just a simulation?

Are my memories going away every time I make a mistake and am trying the simulation again?

I can’t connect. I can’t connect! They speak and ask: “Do you remember this?” And I say yes, I smile, shake my head.

But I don’t!

I don’t!

I’m too young to be like this! Living like this, right?

I should have more—I deserve more—than just stupid thoughts and remembers of faces and bodies and facial features and eyes and nose and lips, teeth, hair, anger, pain, sadness regret remorse tears blood tissue.

I want to feel, be in that memory. I want to smell something and know automatically where I remember it from; same when I look at things, feel things.

My body knows, but my brain refuses. It likes torturing me in such ways as well as others.

I want to look outside that window that disconnects me from reality, from interactions.

I just wanna be a normal fourteen-year old.

I can’t remember the last time I was happy. Yet I remember the last time I wanted to die. What can I do with that because no one can help me and I they can I’m sure they are like 4 years too late. Yo asked me what I wanted to do but I don’t want it I don’t want any of this. I want to be happy and free and full of life but now look at what I have fear and loneliness and misery. So really the only choice I need to make now is if I want to be miserably alive or peacefully dead.

We plunged into the freezing cold water, and swam there, trying to find something to hold on to. I had no idea where we were, or even who we were. All I knew was that I was in a freezing cold ocean with a little boy in my arms that I knew I had to protect. Luckily, I saw a table that had blown off before we did and managed to swim to it and climb atop. It barely floated with our combined body weight, but we managed. The storm was knocking us about, and the wind tore at us. The only things we were wearing were our swimsuits and life jackets. Not much to warm us up. Declan especially couldn’t take it. Just as the storm was finally ending, he curled up in my arms and took his last breath. I didn’t know who he was, but I still felt the loss all the same, mourning for the family that did lose him.

As it turns out, it was my family that had to feel the loss. Umm… anyways… I kept us afloat, making sure I held on to his little body. We stayed on that table for a few days at least. It rained a little one of those days, so at least I got some water to drink. We passed by a fishing boat, who managed to get us off our table and onto the boat. I had no information to give them. I could only say that I had found us in the water with no apparent cause as to why we were there. They wanted to give Declan a burial at sea, but I refused, knowing that I had to take care of him, whether he was alive or dead. They relented and warmed me up after giving me some new clothes. They brought me here and checked me into the hospital. The people in my ward were all really nice, and sympathetic. The hospital tried to take Declan away from me, but I refused, knowing that I wouldn’t be able to see him again. They probably figured it was best to not anger the delusional amnesiac, and so they relented, and soon enough, you and Isabella were barreling down the hallway and I remembered my life again. And Declan.

I woke up screaming. Blankets and clothes stuck to my skin, drenched with sweat. I ripped the covers off, knees bashing the concrete floor. Air. I needed air. I couldn't breathe. I was dying. Where was I?

Doors slammed shut in the distance, footsteps pounding. I didn't care. I couldn't breathe. My stomach twisted in on itself, and I hurled. Hands tried to lift me off the floor, but I fought, lashing out, scratching, biting, kicking. I did anything I could to get them off me.

Sharp, distinct pain pierced the back of my neck. I blacked out.

……..

When I woke, I wasn't screaming. It was still dark, and I was in a bed. I went to get up, to see where I was, but I couldn't move, strapped down to the frame.

I started to hyperventilate. My memories were shattered, only shards standing out to me, broken  into pieces. I couldn't remember, mind blank. I couldn't remember what they did to me after they stabbed me with the needle. 

Awake. I was awake briefly afterwards. They did something. Something to my body that I didn't want. My head was pounding, fighting against the strain of whatever they gave me. 

The door to the room opened, allowing a sliver of light to seep in. I held my breath. A man stepped inside, and the light disappeared.

My breathing became shallow, panic beginning to set in again, gripping my lungs. I could hear him walking towards me, coming closer. His hand covered my mouth.

"Don't move, speak, or make any noise. I'm going to get you out of here," he said. His hand left my face and pulled out a pocket knife.

I laid there in shock as he sliced the straps. 

"Who are you?" I asked, a whisper. My chest hurt. He'd said no talking. I was still partially strapped down. He'd have the advantage if he wanted to hurt me. 

"Someone you used to know," he said. What in the hell did that mean?

"Where am I? Why are you helping me?"

"Shh," he said, equally as quiet. "No more questions now. We need to be fast."

He'd finished up with the straps, and helped me stand up. My legs were numb, weak and wobbly beneath me. I started to fall back.

The stranger caught me by the arms, holding me up.

"Just hang on to me, we're getting you out of here."

I gripped his arm tightly, walking to the door. He opened it, looking both ways before stepping out and dragging me with him.

My heart was pounding. I didn't know this man, or where he was taking me. There was no reason I should trust him. But something in my brain was nagging at me. He was right. Somehow, I recognized him.

White walls surrounded us, leading down a long hallway illuminated by fluorescent lighting, hurting my eyes. As we walked quickly, I noticed through blurry vision the doors we passed. Each showed a different symbol, and I wondered fleetingly what had been on mine.

My mind was fuzzy, memories blurred together and didn't make any sense. Time was only a suggestion, and my brain refused to follow it. 

The hallway split into three ways. The man paused, glancing at his palm. There was writing there, in a language I couldn't recognize.

"Left", he said.

The more we walked, the more our surroundings changed. The smooth white walls turned to stone, the light becoming scarce. It reminded me vaguely of a castle. 

Abruptly, he jerked my arm back, stopping. He tilted his head, listening for something. I held my breath, trying to hear what he did. Suddenly I was shoved into the wall, the uneven stone digging into my back and shoulders.

I strained my ears, but was still unable to hear whatever had scared him. My breath came hard, heart fluttering. Every inch of him pressed into me, each breath pressing us closer. I was so confused. Why was my body acting this way? I didn't know him.

Footsteps. That's what he'd heard. They were right on us, eight feet away.

"Soldier!"

The man turned his head towards them, dropping his hand from my arm to his hip. I looked down.

There, a belt rested lightly, three daggers ranging in different sizes only on that one side.

He glanced down at me. "Breathe, love," he whispered.

"Where are you posted?" A deep, rough voice asked from the group coming towards us.

“Where is it?” I mutter to myself. It was right here, or over there. GODS! Why can’t I find it? I don’t even know what I’m looking for but I need to find it.

“Dad?” A little girl said. I think her name was Alice. My daughter? I don’t know. She looked like me, I think. I haven’t looked in a mirror in a few day or so.

“What is it child?” I said “Can’t you see I’m busy.”

“What are you looking for father?”

I cross my arms, “I don’t know sweetheart, I don’t know.”

“I can’t take care of you like this.”

His voice rumbled with disappointment. Was he disappointed in me? I wondered.

“I’m fine.” I assured him.

“You’re not fine, you have dementia!”

It was then I realized for the first time that I was deteriorating like a sandcastle abandoned on the beach. The worst part was that my family was taking the toll. The doctors say it’s mild but progressive.

“I’m sorry for raising my voice. I shouldn’t do that, you know I didn’t mean to.” He said nervously.

“It’s okay, are you staying for dinner?” I asked in a cheerful manner to lighten the mood.

I glanced at my son as he exhaled a long tired breath.

“We just ate dinner dad. I’ve been washing dishes for the past 30 minutes.”

“Oh. Right.” I muttered.

He grabbed my hand and held in gently.

“I love you.” He said.

I saw a tear grow thicker at the corner of his eye and just like that he went back to the dish he had sat down half rinsed and continued to scrub. I am that lonely castle made of dust barely holding on. Left to fend for myself at the shore. The little hands that made me were already on their way back home hours down the road. And I fear the wind will pick up tonight and my walls will wither away, one tiny grain of sand at a time.