My eyes flutter open, they feel heavy. Impossible to move. I'm greeted by the sun high in the sky, blazing down. A small smile falls onto my face.
"He isn't crying!" I hear.
My hazel eyes dart to a bearded face, attached to the body of a behemoth of a man.
Now I start crying.
A woman with long, red hair smacks the arm of the man playfully, "You made him cry."
The man grins sheepishly and scratches the back of his head.
My tears stop flowing and I sniffle, looking around the room. We were in a wooden room. Built from logs and the roof built from thatch.
The woman was lying on a bed, which had a variety of liquids on the covers. She was sweaty and breathing heavily.
The man I had seen was the person holding me, he held me in his arms, I fit into the palm of his hand.
"Let me hold him, Brock." The woman whines.
The man – Brock – chuckles and passes me over gently, the woman's arms rap around me and her thumb strokes my cheek softly.
"Look at him, he's so beautiful. Look at those eyes!"
The man chuckles, "He's going to grow up to be a knockout."
"His eyes are so big…" She mutters, looking down at me. The sun filters in through a window, and it illuminates her face flatteringly, she looks like an angel.
Sunlight opens its eyes with golden light
Its luminosity unseams the heavy clouds
The clouds with weight upon my mind
The mirror shows a stranger's face
Yet in those eyes's lays a wild grace
Something fierce, untamed and free
I shed the skin of years past
Every step, which had been danced with death
Leaves a life for me, unmade, untold.
The memories of a past life spring at me, but they feel cold and distant. As if they weren't a part of me.
It feels fake, and fragile. I press at them, poking at them curiously. They shatter under my touch, but I don't feel fright or enjoyment.
I feel indifference as they shatter into pieces, falling into an endless abyss. Where they'll fall forever, never seen again. Forever forgotten.
I'm shook from my own babyish thoughts, already forgetting what it was I was thinking about, as my father announces something.
"We need a name." He mutters, "We never managed to think of a good one."
My mother sighs, "I know. We didn't even know it was going to be a boy…" She looks at me again, and her eyes light up.
"I have the perfect name." A small, soft smile appears on her lips, the dimples in her cheeks are accentuated by the sunlight streaming in from the open wind, a light breeze pushing hair into her face.
The man smiles down at me, "Oh…?" He says absently, distracted by my presence. I reach up at his chin, my small fingers caressing the short hair that caked his jaw. He chuckles.
"What is it then?"
She wrenches her gaze away from me, looking up at the man lovingly, he meets her gazes.
"Dorian."
His smile broadens, "Perfect."
They both look down at me, soft smiles on their faces.
"Our little Dorian."
I can't even understand their words, but my eyes start watering again. I babble affirmatively.
He grins, "I think he likes it."
"I'm sure she does." My mother mumbles, she looks back up at Brock, their gazes meeting again.
"We're giving him everything he ever needs. OK?" She says sternly.
He chuckles, "OK." He brushes a hand through her fiery hair and places a soft kiss on her forehead.
I smile.