.:Laughter on the Wind:. (Broegan)

Innocent...
Until proven guilty.

A lot of people think that memories are things that stay with a person forever. Those joyful images, the love that comes back with a single word... all those are comfort that remain with you until the day you die. They say that when you're starving, and lost, and alone, memories are all you have left.

I wish I could agree with them.

But the truth is, you can loose everything in one instant. All those memories just vanish, and as your eyes flutter open to reveal the brick wall of an ally, you can remember absolutely... nothing. You are empty and worthless, without a clue of who you are. You try to look back, and hit space and nothingness. The history is blocked by a wall that looms above you, too high to climb over, but low enough to catch glimpses of the promises on the other side.

My mind is a world of mist and empty promises. Just when I think I might remember something- anything- it disappears back into the gray fog that is constantly threatening to consume the rest of my memory. Every thought is one that I try to cement, for fear that once more, it will all disappear, and I will be left with nothing once more. Not all memories are good ones, but they are memories. The lack of these leave you unprotected, almost ensuring that you will once more find yourself making mistakes that should exist only in your past. New memories are hardly substitutes for old ones, but I find myself depending on them more and more. They fill the emptiness left by a past that remains a mystery to me.

They tell me I'm a criminal. That I might have even murdered someone. Sometimes, I stare down at my hands, wondering if it's true. After the judge asked me all the questions I couldn't answer, he finally just asked to see my hands. I showed them to him, and he glanced down with interest for a few moments before whispering something to one of the police officers who stood nearby, who then walked to some of the ones in the jury and whispered to them. I was found not guilty. As my eyes gaze down at the smooth, pale skin, I wonder what innocence they could have possibly found in the deep, elegant lines that the rest of the district fails to see.

The thing is, I don't feel like a murderer. I feel... light, and happy, and excited. I don't want to steal. I want to greet. I want to daydream. I want to climb trees and whisper my secrets to them. I want to gaze at the stars as they preform the neverending dance I love so much. I can't defend myself to them, though, if I can't remember anything before being found in the ally. I can't even tell myself I'm not a criminal, for fear that I'm only lying. I don't want to be a murderer. I don't think I am. But it's impossible for me to know I'm innocent. And, looking back on all the times I've lost it more no reason and thrown branches with perfect accuracy, it's almost likely that I am. It's so hard to look at myself that way, though. The person they try to convince me I am just feels so... wrong.

Some people who go through what I did are lucky enough to have glimpses of memories they had. They may not make sense, but they still have them. I have absolutely nothing. You never get used to the feeling of emptiness. It's like someone ripped out the first few hundred pages of a book, and you can barely understand the rest, but you have to read it anyway.

And so, following my thoughts, I find myself here. Laying in the fork of a branch in the middle of winter. It's not that cold, though. And the sun is shining through the leaves, like light filtering through stained glass. I watch the way they sway ever so gently in an invisable breeze. A few rain down, tumbling and twirling past me, to the soft ground below. Birds call out all around, filling the air with a chorus of chirps I can't help but love. For just a moment, it seems like everything's just fine. I feel nothing but happiness, and I don't need memories. I don't want them.

These moments rarely last, though.

I shift my gaze to the bark of the tree, frowning slightly as my mind shifts back to the glares I got earlier today. Why won't they just accept the fact that I'm a new person? Even if I was a murderer before, I'm not one now. It's all changed in an odd shift of fate, and my personality now doesn't depend at all on the one that I may or may not have had before. I'm a daydreamer, who only wants everyone else to be happy. But still, they treat me like a criminal. My hand glides over the rough bark, the fingers bouncing as they hit the familiar dips and ledges, and I bite my bottom lip. I feel like I shouldn't be held responsible for a past that doesn't exist to me. They're wrong to blame a girl like me for something they don't even know happened.

"I try so hard," I whisper to a small insect near my finger. "All I want is for them to know I'm not going to hurt them. That I'm innocent. But how can I convince them of that when I'm not even sure myself?"

I sigh, my eyes shifting back towards the sky, not really seeing the leaves anymore. I just want to have it all back, even if I am guilty. At least I'd know. There's a reason I've wished on every star that I'll remember, and not that I'll remember my innocence. Most people will always have their past to comfort or haunt them. But I'm left with broken bits of a puzzle I'll never fit together on my own. My parents say maybe one day I'll remember. I just have to wait.

But how can I wait when the promises beyond the wall call me every day?