"...and his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming..."
- E. A. Poe

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Thread Status: Open | Suggested Soundtrack: Memoirs of the Forgotten

The lady was sewing.

She was seated by the fire, just outside a mud brick hovel with a thatched roof. Her handiwork the labor that produced the clothes on their backs. Around them was a small farm.

It seemed a simpler time. Not a dream so much as it was stepped back through a half-remembered memory of a time long ago.

He'd been a girl then. He'd been alive then. The woman by the fire was the girl's mother. She would raise her head and look over at her daughter, but there was no face. The haze of time shrouded the recollection. The girl could turn her head and see silhouettes out in the field, laboring, toiling with the earth, but couldn't discern who they were. They were just shadows.

The girl turned back to gaze at the faceless woman that was sewing by the fire.

She would hum while she worked, but the girl knew only silence. The melody playing just out of earshot, it's memory forever at the tip of her tongue yet never recalled.

The girl would return here -- this place, this memory -- many times. And on each such occasion it was the same. Shadows in the field. A lady without a face. Music without a sound. But this memory, however poorly remembered, was precious to her. This was life.

This was life as she knew it.

This was life as she had known it.