Other less frightening memories have filtered back to the nameless and placeless one … glimpses of tall buildings and sunlit yards, all so tantalizingly familiar, and yet so resolutely out of reach.
But as comforting as these memories are, they do not lessen the ambient rage. What they represent is gone, and the sense of loss intensifies the rage. The only thing that tempers the fury, keeps it from consuming the nameless one in a blinding explosion is confusion … and loneliness … and loss.
If it had eyes, it would cry.
Still unable to fathom its identity and location, it senses a vague purpose behind its awakening. Like the source of the flitting memory fragments, the nature of the purpose remains elusive. Yet it is there, ripening. Soon, nurtured by the rage, it will blossom.
And then someone, something must die …