She Knows Darkness

Her name?

Just the echo of some sounds in her mind.

She is not even sure if she ever had a name. But everything has a name. He must have a name, even though he never speaks.

The things he brings her to eat, drink, to clean herself – all of those have names even though at the moment she struggles to remember what they are called.

She knows darkness. She and darkness became friends a long time ago when he kept her eyes hidden from the light.

The word blindfold comes from somewhere deep within her mind where the unused words lie caged waiting to be set free again.

Free is another of those words grown unfamiliar from lack of use. Free – freedom – used to matter to her, she can remember that. Although what it is, and why it matters so much, she can hardly remember.

She sometimes has dreams. Images play across her mind when she grows tired of these same walls all around her and the door that never opens, except for the times when he brings her things. Things that remind her of other times, other times when she knew what free meant.

Or were those all just dreams too?

Was this other life that creeps into her mind when sleeping, or when she grows tired of these four walls, something that actually was, that used to be? Or is it all something her mind has made up?

Surely, this cannot have been all her life?

She remembers something.

Another man. This one also brought her things. But he did it smiling and laughing.

Laughing – that was odd the noise he made that made both he and her happy, and that little one too. The small girl that seemed so much a part of her that every hurt, every pain the little girl suffered tore at her heart, tore at her insides as though it was she that was suffering. That little girl belonged to her almost as much as she belonged to the little girl.

What happened to her?

Where is she?

Why does thinking about the child cause such agony of not knowing?

There are things, she remembers, that are called tears that fall from her eyes down her cheeks every time she remembers that girl, that little girl and the man who made her happy.

Are they only dreams too?

Sometimes she wishes the darkness would take her. Take her away from this – wherever and whatever it is – and stop torturing her with these dreams or memories of what could be another life. A life that – somewhere – carries on without her.

She wonders how the little girl is coping without her mummy.

Mummy?

Maybe that is her name.

Mummy. It means something to her. It means something more than the whole world to her. But the happy man did not call her that. Only the little girl called her that. Maybe it was some secret they shared. They often laughed together, her and the little girl, when the happy man was away, and they both felt sad but happy that he always came home again. But the little girl made everything all right again, and home was a special place for all three of them.

She hears the door opening as he brings the light back for a while, along with the things to eat, drink and wash herself.

She wonders if anything will ever be all right again.

Will she ever be Mummy again?