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One moment I am sound asleep in my bed, dreaming pleasant things that I looked forward for the world to have. The next, I am sinking through my bed and plunging into the floor, as if I am made of water, air, or nothing at all. Then my stomach leaps out of my mouth and the rest of my body plummets through a dark chasm as black as night, everything around me made of whispering shadows. It was beyond my what my brain could register. What happened?

I try to scream, to let out the panic and terror locked inside of me, but I am surprised to find that no sound comes out. I can only hear the heart-stinging whistle of wind as I fall through warm, humid air and pounding, roaring waves of hysteria streaming out from my heart. It was sheer terror that my brain felt. No. I cannot stay like this. I need to get out of this.

I try to twist and turn so that I can face down, presumably the direction I am falling, at least knowing what I can arrive at, but suddenly I find that I am paralyzed. My limbs refuse to move, my fingers won't twitch, and even my eyes furtle efforts seem to make my situation worse. I am forced to wait in suspenseful agony for my back to crash onto the bottom of this chasm that will eventually come. However, my heart suddenly thinks for itself. Will it?

Aware that I have been falling for a dangerous length of time, every fibre of my soul expecting to reach the end of the chasm as each second ticks on, I try to calm and focus my thoughts. What can I do to save myself? Why can't I move? Why is this happening? I cannot stand the silence. I want to remember. I want to grasp the past, and reach out to my memories. If they are my last, I want them at least, to be of the joyous, peaceful memories of my early youth, reminding me of a better life I once had, before I realized the darkness. But my memories are forcefully teared out of my mind, ripped to shreds and tossed carelessly into the wind, floating into the shadows, never to be seen again.

My heart panics.

I try to let out a strangled scream, to reach out my hands to grasp through the darkness onto anything that can make this stop, to search my mind for my lost memories, but to no avail. I feel myself melting, everything that made me me dissolving into the mist that begins to gather around me.

As droplets of mist start stinging my face, my whole body is racked with tormenting pangs of panic and hopelessness, one stab for every droplet. Is this even water? I am not unconscious nor is my identity fully shredded, yet, but with every passing second, every growing mist, I feel myself begin to slip away, against my will.

I keep falling.

The mist grows thicker, and turns into fog. The blackness dims, until the chasm is a murky grey. I can still see nothing. But suddenly, my ears pick up dull cracks of thunder, growing louder as I continue to fall, though not as rapidly now. There are no sides to the chasm as a naked eye can see. Is this even a chasm? Why is there thunder? Again, all I can do is to wait, eyes looking at the murky sky, waiting, waiting, waiting...

Fresh claws of panic clutch me as a streak of lightning flashes across my eyes, ingraining its harsh line into the back of my head. No. Make it stop. I want to close my eyes, but they still wouldn't move. I am forced to endure many more flashes of lightning, many more piercing shrieks of thunder, while helplessly tumbling through the fog like a lonely ant drowning in the vast ocean.

Rain suddenly pours through the fog, rolling down my skin and soaking through my clothing. Despite the thunder and lightning, the rain's gentle coolness is shocking, and bring life into me, and I can feel my senses flooding back into me. I let out a gasp at the sudden change in temperature and blink rapidly as raindrops settle onto my eyelids and turn my body so that I am falling feet first, eyes focused on my bare feet, hoping that the ground will eventually appear through the pervasive, grey fog.

My memories are still gone.

And yet, I feel like dancing for joy. I have my voice back, my ability to move back, and I have no doubt that eventually, my memories will return as well.

And they did.

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I am still falling, but I am now smoothly shifting into a gentle drift. The storm has come down from its peak, and has quieted to a gentle curtain of soothing rain. But the fog is thickening, though I would not have thought that possible. But the fog gets even thicker. I am soon horrified that I can't even see my feet, and as I continue to drift down, the fog creeps further up my body so that it covers my waist, then my shoulders, and finally I can't see any part of me beyond my neck. I feel like I am beheaded by the swirling, grey fog, drifting helplessly.

Suddenly a smell and a sound cause me to freeze in my inspection of my surroundings, and I stop breathing, though my heart is thudding furiously. The past comes back one piece at a time. And I remember. The smell, that smell of the humid, mossy air, and moist fog, mixed with the impression of a fatal plunk of a body falling in water brings one memory back: the worst day of my life. The day the fog grew so thick that my mother, crossing the Chesapeake pond via a narrow land bridge, miscalculated the width of the bridge, tripped over a branch and fell into the water. Never to be seen again.

She was presumed to have drowned, since she didn't know how to swim, but all searches for her body proved futile. The best divers of the town, with their complex and scientific searching devices and equipment could find nothing, perplexing us all, since it was a small pond, and not that deep.

But as terrible as that was, it wasn't what made it the worst day of my life. There are things far more desperate, and it seems that a coincidence might of happened. Because when I came home from school that day, I was greeted with the news of both my mother and father's deaths, one from the tragic accident, the other from the war. The war of Mixelopeldion Hill. Two countries, both 5 cities big, warring. Oh, how horrible wars are, all the killing, bombs, and sounds of dying soldiers made my heart ache. But the death of my father, that has completely shattered my heart.

My shattered heart had never been mended.

Needless to say, I feel myself cracking up while I am forced to relieve that horrendous day. First came the screams from the bystanders, then the sloshing of feet on the gooey brown mud, and then the shouts to get the town medics, police, and divers.

I can still see nothing through the fog, but I can imagine what it looks like, and I wish I can't. It seems to suck away my life, because no matter how hard I desperately try to return to what has to be the real world and escape this nightmare, I can't. I'm stuck. There is no escape. No way to get out.

The time drags on, and eventually I hear the wails of my little brother and me as we returned from school. We saw the messenger sent from the front lines, and found that both of our parents were gone. Not gone as in gone to do the laundry, or gone to the war, but really, truly gone. Forever. No more meals cooked by mom, no more heroic stories told from my dad. Me and my brother were orphans.

I remember that very day distinctly, clutching my little brother with all strength I had left in me. I remember holding him closely to me, burying my tear-streaked head in his curly haired head, brushing my fingers across his soft cheeks, vowing to myself to never let him go. Vowing to keep my brother safe no matter what will happen. To even sacrifice my life for his well being.

Most of all, I remember how my soul rocked with grief over the loss of my parents, how I never had a really close relationship with them. I might even have been able to deal with their deaths if we had been closer, but now that they were gone, I'd never get the chance. I would never make up for that broken light, never to apologize for accidentally putting my foot in my dad's mouth, none of that.

So, I was determined that I didn't want to make that mistake with my brother.

Even now, as these painful memories flit by in my mind, tears layer my skin, mixing in with the mist and fog. My fingers clench and unclench as the raw feeling of hopelessness and grief washes over me, again and again. I understand that famous saying only all too well.

You don't appreciate what you have until it's gone.

I can stand no more. I try to stop remembering.

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Almost abruptly, the drifting stops and my bare feet touch the soft, muddy earth, gently squeezing through my toes in soothing squishes. I remember what I had always missed about the foggy, humid, swampy town I used to call home. The fresh air, cool and wet earth, peace and quiet except for gently lapping water. But now everything is tinged with pain, sadness, and despair.

I try to walk, see if it will help me get back to the city, but I can't. I am riveted in place, forced to soak in the thick air, but it is no longer quenching, somehow. I do soak, instead of sulk.

I never appreciated my home, much less after my parents' tragic demise, but I do now. I am almost grateful for whatever is giving me this step into the past, giving me a chance to see all the reasons I have to love the things in life so often taken for granted, but I know something is wrong.

The mud suddenly starts to slide, but this time, I know what will happen. Slowly, I close my eyes in peaceful anticipation. I do not panic. Sinking into the mud, I breathe in one last breath of the cool, humid and foggy air, and then I am engulfed in the muddy earth.

The sinking doesn't last long, for soon I am back in the darkness of the chasm, falling. The air is dry now, whistling past me harshly, drying all my clothes, all my tears. My limbs freeze and I find that I can't even mutter to myself anymore, but this time, my memories are gently peeled away, to be kept safely until I needed them.

But one memory has been left behind. A warm feeling blossoms in my heart as I feel myself emerge into its time and place, into my most beloved memory. I am singing about my favorite things, my projecting voice piercing the air. My feet on the grassy hills of the countryside. My dad always said that willpower is the strongest power of all. I know what is going on. I reach into my memory, and once again, I emerge from the dream, and I am back in bed, singing softly to myself.

The world looks as wonderful as ever.

There is a small device in my head. I gently slide it off. One look at it reveals it. It is one of the world's most powerful dream devices, used to cling people into dreams, and force them to slowly starve in the real world, and die. I appreciate all the knowledge my parents have ever gave me, all the things they have ever done. I would have never had such a strong willpower if I didn't keep an open mind, always wanting to know, and learn, eager to experiment with new things.

But my enemies are out there, and I have my brother to protect. I cannot hesitate.

Grabbing my revolver, I run to my brother's room. Only to find nobody there. I know who, or I should say, what, took him. I know why. He is alive, but if I don't act, he will die. I vowed to protect him, and I will, with my dear life.

Gathering all my belongings, I rush outside, on my mission, gathering forces, rescuing a dear one. But now, things are different. There's a new taste in the air. A taste of beauty and love. For being alive. For learning. And most importantly, for remembering.