AMNESIAC By Sam Kavich
It doesn’t feel like waking up. She does not slip from a dream nor jolt from a nightmare. Not even the fuzzy, dull sensation of waking from a dreamless sleep makes itself known. One second, the girl is aware of nothing. The next, the floodgates are thrown open and the universe pours in, pooling in her senses. She’s drowning before she even opens her eyes. “Renn!” A voice—light and male, pierces through the rush like a hand thrusting out of water. The world lurches when he speaks, disorienting the girl further as a female voice replies: “I have her, watch the road!” Hands clamp down on the girl’s shoulders—has she been thrashing? “Hey, hey! You’re safe, do you hear me? Open your eyes if you can hear my voice.” Before the words register, the girl’s fist collides with soft flesh and the female voice grunts. Her eyes open. The world is unbelievably bright. “Renn, you alright?” The male voice asks. The owner of the female voice kneeling before her (presumably Renn) rubs her face. A bruise is blooming like a blush along her cheekbone. She opens her mouth to reply to the boy, but when her eyes lock with the girl’s, his question goes ignored. “You’re awake.” She shifts forward, and the girl falls back on her elbows, startled. Renn’s eyes soften. “It’s okay, we’re safe.” She holds her palms out to the girl to show she isn’t a threat. The girl’s eyes dart around their surroundings. They’re in the back of a caravan wagon—trunks and crates are stacked on either side of the mat she was laid out on, obscuring the view of the road. A colorful beaded curtain that separates the driver’s seat from the back is currently pulled to the side, and through it she can see the back of a man’s head. She speaks around her heart in her throat, refocusing on Renn, or trying. Every bump of the wagon sends a jolt up her spine. She clears
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