Memories are something I'll never understand. There are so many things I want to forget about, to banish to the darkest corners of my mind and lock them there, never to be relived again.
Unfortunately, you can't. And that's why I still have nightmares about the men with horns, who tried to take me from my parents, their deep black and red eyes are permanently etched into my mind. Loud, inhuman growls echoing through our tiny home. How my papa wrapped his arms around me and screamed at them to leave me be. And when they refused, and attacked, how his lifeless body slumped over, crushing me beneath him.
I have good memories too, of course, everyone does. Sometimes, they're just harder to dig up if you're too focused on the bad memories.
Thinking back, I can remember my momma telling me fantastic stories about warriors and gods, her eyes distant, as though she were seeing a world where her stories came to life. Then there was papa, singing me lullabies with his deep, strong voice. I could even remember him rocking me to sleep, and the way he smelled as he did so.
But why do we remember one thing, but not another? Why is it that I memorized so many of her stories, but not my momma's birthday? Why can I remember my papa's favorite song, but not the color of his eyes?
And why is it, that whenever I try to remember my loving grandmother, who raised me until I was five years old, the only thing I can remember is the magnificent golden-framed mirror that hung above her fireplace?
Hey guys! So, it's been a while, huh? Sorry bout' that. I know this is short, but it's only the prologue. I didn't want to put too much into it. ;; The first chapter is a bit longer, don't worry. ^^ I'd really love to know what you think, and how I can improve. (Cause honestly, the last time I wrote a story like this was over a year ago. ;;;)