“for some reason… i can’t remember… so many things.”

“Such as what?”

“mostly from the past. like, the deep past. it is weird. i feel like the memories are there. sometimes, in the deep of my mind, i can see them - flashy, blurred images of yore. but whenever i try to reach them - to grasp the memory with the palm of my hand - they disappear. vanished, just like that.”

They gave Mr. Rabbit a weird look. It wasn’t directed at him, as he quickly realized, but rather at somewhere beyond them, beyond the room they were in. To somewhere distant. To sometime distant. A look to the past.

It was look of sadness.

“i wish… i wish i could remember…”

A gloomy silence filled the air. The darkness surrounding them, broken apart only by the faint glow of a candle by the table, made itself cold. Looking by the window, Mr. Rabbit could still recognize the sillouete of the mountains amidst the fog. The Great Wild Hills, where that house stood strongly, now found itself losing its form to the nightly dark. It was a melancholic vision, even more on a windy night of Autumn, such as that exact night.

Feeling the sorrowness that was starting to take place of that seemingly casual conversation, Mr. Rabbit tried to warm the mood up.

“What is the first thing you remember?”

“i remember…”

“i remember the voices…”

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