My eyes pierce through the darkness towards the far edge of the forest, through the barbed wire fence and over the patches of weeds and dead grass. The moon is bright, its reflected light forcing its way through the thick clouds of pollution and trickling rain, fighting to reach the ground.

Wet gravel and mud crackle softly beneath my boots as I approach the dilapidated fence. I clear it faster than the human eye can detect, as I crouch amongst the dead weeds, my fingers caressing a tiny puddle that rests beneath me. I tap the center of the pool, watching the rings of response spread softly towards the edges of the dirt circle.

The wind picks up, dragging brown hair across my face, as I peer through the thin, greasy strands towards the puddle, each tap of the tip of my finger initiating separate events that must play forward, having no choice but to follow the ring that precedes it, unable to shift backwards into the past; doomed to repeat the same plain of travel, the results no doubt different each time, yet somehow the same.

A heavy breeze purrs across the surface of the water, thin wrinkles attacking the perfect rings, altering their rate of movement and obliterating their inevitable outcome. The smell of death enters my nostrils.

My legs force me upright and I am on the move, my arms outstretched in the air at my sides, my long jacket fluttering behind me like the cape of a savior. The smell intensifies, pouring into my mouth as I ingest the aroma of dozens that passed before me.

I close in on the far corner of the field, my pace constant and unhurried. I know what is here, what awaits me, so there is no rush. The temperature drops like a stone in a river and my skin absorbs the chill, feeding upon its emptiness.

The heat inside me has all but disappeared. I am but a walking shell, my actions and thoughts lacking in premeditation, instigated only by instinct and nothing else.

Brittle leaves stuck to the tree’s branches crackle against the breeze, having somehow survived the desolate elements of this world. My right hand reaches towards the sky, as I run a fingertip across the bumpy edges of the surviving vegetation. My eyes focus through the darkness, admiring the detail, each tiny vein struggling to pump life into it’s dying self.

I look on with admiration and curiosity. An odd sensation trickles through my insides, as I watch the leaves flutter against the strong wind. I can feel life fading away, knowing days from now these creatures will no longer exist.

My hand drops to my side and I turn away from the dull moonlight towards the stench.

Its been a fifty years since I have been here, yet I can still feel it; my essence.

I often seek it here, at this very place, in the dark, which has become my everywhere and forever. It is faint, bits and pieces floating about in space, trapped beneath the black skies of King City, searching for me.

I wonder if I still want it. All of it, that is. Would I be allowed to pick and choose? To sort through the layers and mounds of memories, brushing away the unwanted parts with the flick of a wrist? Will I have any say in the final outcome?

Thick raindrops smack against the shoulders of my jacket, my hair soaked and cold, sticking to my cheeks and forehead. The tips of my boots rest against the two- foot high rusty metal gate that outlines the tiny cemetery.

The rain smacks against marble headstones, rainwater spilling into the etchings within the rock, eroding away any evidence of this once living thing’s existence.

My eyes loom over this patch of forgotten memories, unable to care, yet knowing that I do. The moonlight juts through the darkness above, piercing through the branches of the tree in front of me, illuminating the far edge of the cemetery. My lips twitch upwards and then back down, leaving me confused by such an odd and unfamiliar gesture.

A pressure forms against the small of my back, as though a hand pushes me forwards towards the escaped triangle of moonlight that rests upon the decaying soil.

I creep forwards towards it.

And I remember.