Something I Forgot
He was mid-swing when it hit.
A sharp pain—deep in the chest, behind the ribs.
He jolted forward, feet dragging hard against the dirt.
The swing jerked to a stop.
He clutched his shirt, bent forward, breath caught in his throat.
It wasn't physical pain.
It was worse.
It was the pain of something leaving.Of something being ripped out.
And then—just as suddenly—he remembered something.
It was warm.And bright.And real.
He knew it.
He knew it.
He opened his mouth.
"I remember—"
But the words didn't come.
He stared straight ahead.
His throat tightened.
"I remembered," he whispered.
Then again, louder.
"I remembered something—!"
The girl didn't speak.
She watched him carefully, hands still behind her back.
He stood up from the swing, dizzy.
Turned in a circle.
The sky above blurred.
The trees shimmered like heat mirages.
"What was it?" he demanded.
His voice cracked.
"What was it?"
He grabbed at his hair.
Paced.
Kicked the dirt.
His breath came short now, like the air was thinner.
His hands trembled.
His knees gave slightly.
"Why does it go?" he whispered.
Then, louder:
"Why does it leave so fast!?"
He looked at her.
Eyes wide. Red.
"What's wrong with me!?"
Still, she said nothing.
Just the faintest flinch in her fingers.
He took a shaky step back.
His voice dropped to a whisper, bitter and hollow.
"I hate this."
His hands clenched.
"I hate this place."
His voice cracked again.
"I hate myself."
The trees didn't respond.
The sky didn't change.
And the swing still moved, just a little, like it missed him.
He sank to the ground.
Put his head in his hands.
And whispered:
"What did I forget?"
The girl turned to him slowly.
Her face unreadable.
"You'll remember again."
He didn't look up.
"I don't want to remember."
A beat.
Then:
"Yes, you do."