Snippet #2410836

She awoke to thoughts that were not her own. Or at least, she didn't think they were. How could she have thoughts when this was her first breath, her first moment in the world of the living? Mind, the thoughts weren't much, moreso questions then concepts that would normally cycle through one's mind (or so she thought), but it was enough to make her question the very thoughts themself. Slowly, she opened her eyes. The world was fuzzy, her mouth dry. Her stomach churned, as though trying to digest food that was not present. She sat up, raising a shaking hand to her head, trying to organize these foreign thoughts that had so rudely awoke her. She finally harnessed a thought, a single word: Thirsty. Though it was a simple thought, she was proud of herself for organizing her first thought in this new life. Or she thought it was new. But who was to say that she hadn't lived before this, just without thought or memory? She saw a simple notebook strewn at the foot of her bed. Okay, not really strewn. Come on, give her a break. She was new to this thinking and putting words to things concept. She reached for it, as though possessed by a spirit who gave her no choice but to obey her own curiousity. She flipped the book open, beginning to read. (She was surprised to find that she knew what read ment, let alone that she was able to do such thing.) She felt sorrow for whoever had wrote this, assuming it was true. Her eyes fell to the signature at the bottom. "Amarya," she read in a whisper, barely audible. She jumped at the sound of her own voice. Indeed, she had never considered that she had a voice to begin with. Whoever this Amarya was, she pitied them. She put down the book, but she saw the word again, this time on her bed's nameplate. Oh, she thought, heart hammering. I'm Amarya.