Chapter One: Forgotten Identities

A prisoner meets a long lost friend, and tries to recall his identity.

Chapter One: Forgotten Identities 

I stopped counting how many years it's been since I've seen the sunlight, or the snow, or anything outside of this prison at all. I suppose I've gotten used to the cold, and the musty smell that lingers here all the time. My thoughts often wander. I used to lay here and imagine what it would be like to walk upon the fresh soil again, but I seem to have forgotten how the dirt feels on my bare feet. This place was once a kingdom, flourishing with gossiping townsfolk, greedy merchants, and rulers with egos the size of the damn place itself. I'm actually quite surprised that I can at least remember that. There are few things I do remember. My job... if I can remember correctly, was serving as a knight of the lord. The lord was a very generous man, he paid his men well, made sure we were fed, and gave us the best armor and weaponry a man could imagine. He always seemed to put his people before himself, and fought for them until his last dying breathe. I feel as though he died right before my feet, but that's one of the many foggy memories I have.

There was once a voice here, perhaps in a cell somewhere near me, but he kept getting quieter until one day, there was nothing. This man wasn't much of a saint, in fact, he was quite the opposite. A trickster of sorts, as I would call it. Stealing money from the rich using smart, but unlawful sales tactics. Myself being a man of honor, and law, I found this to be very taunting. I would argue with him for hours on end, but somewhere along the way, we would just laugh about how silly our disagreements were. After being locked away in a jail cell for so long, one starts to appreciate the smaller things in life. Having someone to talk to, regardless of who it is, was definitely one of the best things to happen to me down here. I truly do miss the conversations we would have. It's probably been twelve years or so, if my math is right, since I stopped hearing his voice. Although, these twelve years feel like a short nap compared to the eternal nightmare I've been enduring.

Rats scurried across the floor, and the walls made their daily creeking, but today there was something else. A cough. A very faint cough at that, but I know for certain it was there. 

"Aye mate," a voice called out, it was old and raspy, "didn't think I was gone forever, did ya? I'll tell you one thing, can't be rid of me that quick." 

"Ye old b*****d, 'the hell did you go?"

He cleared his throat again, this time sounding more sickly than before. A shuffling sound came from the cell next to me, and after all these years I finally figured out which one he had been in. "Don't really know to be honest, I just kind of fell asleep, and didn't wake again until now." The coughing continued to persist, sounding as though he was going to keel over and die any second. It was fairly obvious that this was the same man as before, but something was very different about him.

"Are you certain? We were friends for what seemed to be a lifetime, I can tell when you're disstressed. I know no man who can sleep for twelve years." There was something wrong with him, but I just couldn't figure out what.

He spoke once again, but only after another sickly fit of coughing, "'ave I ever told you my name?" This was a question that I never could have imagined being asked. In a way it was somewhat frightening. "I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't even remember yours. I had the nerve to burn my into my skin though, don't have much meaning anymore really, but at least I know it."

Burning his name into his own flesh? "I always knew you to be a little crazy." I gave out a small laugh, and found myself smiling for the first time in years. The enjoyment of the little talks me and my mysterious friend shared was returning. "Go on then, your name?"

"Ah yes, my name indeed. They call me, by birth, Eugene, Eugene Solomon. Make your jokes, I think it's a rather nice name."

"No jokes from me friend, just envy. There's days that I wish I could remember my own name. No pleasure comes from not knowing yourself." Part of me wishes that I would have had the idea of burning 'my identity' into my skin. It's irritating not remembering who you are, or anything about your life for that matter. 

"Envy? Nay. Nay I say. You mustn't feel envy friend. Our names are names of people that no longer live. Eugene died countless years ago." Both me and him fell into silence. Am I no longer the same person anymore? 

"If I'm not to be who I was, then who I am now?" These words echoed through the small jail, and were met by nothing but deathly silence. This, I felt, was a question that he could not provide an answer for. Perhaps this was a question that only I could make an answer for. 

Thirty, maybe forty minutes passed, but not a single word was spoken from either of us. Sometimes words leave open wounds, and these wounds needed time to mend. Mayhap I will take a rest, hopefully by the time I awake, my friend... Eugene, will still be about.

Author's Note

A very short chapter, more of a quick prologue. Mainly wanted something short so that I would have something to post on here, to give a feel of the book.