As the branches lost their hair and the furry ones became white, she realized she was losing her memories of the time before she was taken to this strange land. The last things she could remember were her skin scalding to touch but her body cold and damp from within. Staying conscious became difficult but through it, she watched her father jump from desperate sobs to dangerous ferocity. This was beyond any level of emotion she had ever seen him express and the animosity grew to such a degree, she believed he might knock her out. On the contrary, all his actions towards her were gentle and shaky, as though she were the dangerous animal about to lash out. He was afraid.
That was the last thing she saw before opening her eyes to the inside of the wooden prison. Had she not been so terrified of being trapped in a seamless, dark compartment, she would have noticed her motion sickness from bobbing up and down. Thinking back, she couldn’t decide why she would have become suddenly paralyzed nor how she ended up in the fleshy sack afterwards. Thoughts of these events were becoming blurred in her head at such a rapid rate, she was afraid she had developed an old person’s disease, “old timers?” or something like that? Her vocabulary and general knowledge was slipping too. These lifetimes of solidarity, without communication with another whom she could understand, were pushing her back to prehistoric methods of interacting. Talking to herself was no use either, the captors had altered her ability to speak and all that would come out was babbling and screeching.
The leaves had again fallen off the trees, and she could no longer recall events even from a fortnight prior. The people around her have started calling her by a name and she has accepted it as her own. More seasons passed and the people became smaller around her. Less were capable of holding her and their speech began to make sense. To finally connect with these other beings, she reached for any strand of a word she could try to understand and attempted to repeat it. If she was successful, warm emotions were emitted and a treat would be offered, which her grubby hands would grasp with fingers tiny and pudgy compared to the others.
With this system, she adapted and grew and accepted this life as her own. She learned how to walk on her own, run even. She could tie her shoes, eat and dress herself on her own. These were all very proud moments of hers, each accompanied by the same warm affection she had come to know and love. She went to school, graduated, got a job, and had a family. This was all she ever was meant to be, ever was, and ever will be.
Or that’s what she thought until she was locked in another wooden box, and all that had happened before, came back to her. There were questions she needed answered, but it was too late. Her time had come. The cycle had to repeat itself and she was no closer to ending it.
"The views expressed, [in this article] reflect personal opinions of the authors and do not reflect the official policy or position of the United States Naval Academy, the United States Navy, any federal agency, the Department of Defense, or the U.S. Government.”
