From dailyprompt: “Don’t you remember how it all began?”

Unknown ‘verse

“Don’t you remember how it all began?”

“Think, Minda. There has to be something there.”

“Nothing.” She pressed her cheek to her bare knee in frustration. There was a scar there, a pencil-thin white line. She wondered what had caused it. It had to have been something pretty intense.

Now what did that mean? She looked up at the tall girl with the golden skin, who was trying so urgently to prompt her memory. “I’m sorry,” she said, for what she was pretty sure was the nineteenth or twentieth time. “Nothing.”

The girl flopped to the floor. “Nothing at all, not even a hint? Come on, Minda, this is important.”

“Not a hint, not even a name, mine or yours. Nothing. I woke up here,” she gestured at the bed, grateful that she could come up for a word for it: bed. For sleeping. And other things. Hrrm. When she’d first opened her eyes, she hadn’t even had that. “That’s all. I woke up here next to you.” Next to you. Naked, which they still both were. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation.

“Damnit.” The golden girl slammed a fist into her thigh. “Damn, Minda, don’t you remember how it all began? There has to be something there, something…”

“How it all began…” There was the tiniest bit of something, not at the words, but at the way the girl’s fist slammed into her thigh. “Falling,” she tried. “Not falling. Being pushed. Shoved.”

“Yes?” She nodded hopefully, staring at Minda (was that really her name?) as if she could force more memories out of her by force of will.

“Falling…” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. After the landing, I’ve got nothing.”

I’ve got nothing. They took everything. She blinked up at the naked girl. “We’ve got nothing,” she tried. “They took everything, left us here. We’ve got nothing but each other.”

The hope in the girl’s eyes was too much. She couldn’t bear to tell her that, of the flickering memories coming back, her lean form and wide black eyes featured in none of them.

—Or try this flavor:

“Think, Mik. There has to be something there.”

“Nothing.” He pressed his cheek to his bare knee in frustration. There was a scar there, a pencil-thin white line. He wondered what had caused it. It had to have been something pretty intense.

Now what did that mean? He looked up at the tall boy with the golden skin, who was trying so urgently to prompt his memory. “I’m sorry,” he said, for what he was pretty sure was the nineteenth or twentieth time. “Nothing.”

The boy flopped to the floor. “Nothing at all, not even a hint? Come on, Mik, this is important.”

“Not a hint, not even a name, mine or yours. Nothing. I woke up here,” he gestured at the bed, grateful that he could come up for a word for it: bed. For sleeping. And other things. Hrrm. When he’d first opened his eyes, he hadn’t even had that. “That’s all. I woke up here next to you.” Next to you. Naked, which they still both were. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation.

“Damnit.” The golden boy slammed a fist into his thigh. “Damn, Mik, don’t you remember how it all began? There has to be something there, something…”

“How it all began…” There was the tiniest bit of something, not at the words, but at the way the boy’s fist slammed into his thigh. “Falling,” he tried. “Not falling. Being pushed. Shoved.”

“Yes?” He nodded hopefully, staring at Mik (was that really his name?) as if he could force more memories out of his by force of will.

“Falling…” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. After the landing, I’ve got nothing.”

I’ve got nothing. They took everything. He blinked up at the naked boy. “We’ve got nothing,” he tried. “They took everything, left us here. We’ve got nothing but each other.”

The hope in the boy’s eyes was too much. He couldn’t bear to tell his that, of the flickering memories coming back, his lean form and wide black eyes featured in none of them.

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