My...Name? What is my Name?

Can there be a Name in a place such as this? A white void, filled with nothing but the emptiness of life itself...

If I do have a Name, what would it be? Would anyone know it? Would I recognize it, if it were called to me?

My Name. My Name is...

My Name is...

???: "Use this. Write down everything you remember. Start wherever you feel is best."

A voice as soft as the void I had seen; as kind as generosity itself, reincarnated into the body of the one before me. Like an angel, appearing at a man's doorstep, guiding him to a peaceful death, this one stood in front of me.

???: "My Name...what is it?"

???: "...It's John. Do you remember?"

John...I like this name.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I remember the cracking of wood, clenched firmly within my hands. As the snow fell around me, coating my exposed jacket and hair with the fresh powder of frigid air, any coldness I had felt was negated by the numbness of my body. My body...so cold, yet unfeeling. It had been many days since I first entered the snowfield, and it would be many days before I left it. A Human child, so lonely and unequipped, should not have been able to survive under such circumstances.

I remember crouching beside a tree in the forest, a bow and arrow drawn up, as I awaited for something to pass me by. The tensed string of the bow continuously creaked and shrieked, waiting for its eventual freedom—soon, it would have it. 

I remember the harshness of the freezing air becoming so violent to my sensations that I could no longer sense it, and although the pain of the snow had long since disappeared, I felt that my body was getting weaker with time. Eyes drooping, arms loosening, legs wobbling. This was my experience in the snowy forest, and my last one for a long time.

I remember, most of all, the brown-furred creature that crept through the softly crunching ground. It's deep black eyes, staring only for what it needed, unaware of the wants of those around it—of the intentions of the hiding boy, thin as a stick, who had been waiting for such an opportunity.

Thwip—!

Taking proper aim and releasing my fingers from the string, the splintering arrow in the frail bow was flung far, flying straight through the air and then through the body of the woodland creature. With a shriek of its own, the once peaceful of the forest, turning into a violent mess of maroon, soon shrunk into silence once more as it collapsed to the ground.

Pale Boy: "No way...!"

The eerie joyful triumph of the young boy, as he gleefully hopped up and down, slinging the bow onto his back—a dark contrast to the sight unfolding before me just moments later. I had rushed over to the stricken creature, eager to collect on my rewards, though I found only punishments as its eyes met mine.

How many times before this? How many others, just like this one, had I already hunted? The lives of how many—extinguished by my hands—why, out of all of them, was it this one which clung to me like a parasite within its host's stomach? Hunting out of necessity...no different from a murder out of necessity, in my mind. Equally horrible musts that are unavoidable if one wishes to survive, and yet, all the more ingrained into one's memories because of it. There was no use hoping or fantasizing for an alternative; it must be done. It has to be done, otherwise I could die. Otherwise they could all die. Every last one of the people I've met. They could die, because I would die. 

So did this one have to die to save the ones I know?

...No, too harsh a question to ask. There's still so much that I can't remember...my entire life, nothing more than flashbulb memories of vivid horrors and stained happiness—if I continue to write, will they come back in clearer detail? Will I understand the truth behind the me that is here, as opposed to the me that I write of?

Pale Boy: "What...what do I do?!"

My own high-pitched, yet hoarse voice—a youthful song roughened by the reality of my journey—it reminds me that I cannot focus on who "I" am. For now, at least, I must focus on "Him". The "Me" of then, that I am told to write of.

Pale Boy: "D-do I...?"

The arrow had firmly lodged itself within the creature's neck, horizontally, piercing shallowly into the snowy ground that the animal fell onto. No matter what way I had looked at it, there was no comfortable way of lying down in such a situation. With little experience on what to do in such a situation, my youthful naivete took over.

Pale Boy: "Like...this!"

I pulled the arrow out of the doe's neck, though the head of the weapon had released greater wounds on its exit because of my carelessness. The bleeding, which seemed unstoppable before, now increased to a greater speed, far faster than I thought possible.

There was no avoiding it. My musts have caused a death, though I will continue to survive. That is fine. That is okay. That is good. Were it the other way around, the same could be said. It would be fine. It would be okay. It would be good. There is no shame in admitting the good that can come from the bad. But...if there was one wish I held then, it was to alleviate the pain of the bad from an animal that wanted nothing to do with me, nor was it even aware of my existence.

It was unfair, and I sought to rectify that mistake of nature.

Like a clingy family member, there was something important attached to my right hip. A sharp blade, clad in a black metal—or, no, the material was more like the sharpest glass known to me—in any case, the blade was unsheathed from a small holster at my right hip, and held up high above my head. Clasping it tightly into my two small palms, holding it underhand, readying a fatal swing, there was hesitancy in my actions. It was normal, but, effectively pointless.

Pale Boy: "I'm sorry...if your soul happens to come back, please avoid me!"

With that, the thread of life was cut short, and the white snow around was stained a deep, feral, putrid red.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

By this time, the sun had finally come to set, bringing darkness to the landscape. A small underground cavern gave way for a fire to breath life, and it was there that I had set preparations for the next day. There were pieces of deer meat roasting on the open fire, while I carefully wrapped and packed the remaining rations, already cooked and sliced, into a small, dark green backpack.

Rations for tomorrow, and the day after, and after, and after—all packed and ready for the next step of the journey. Rations for tonight, slowly cooking, roasting, flaming before my eyes—soon, they would be ready to feed my feeble body, and I could rest with a full stomach.

Even if the mind is at ease, and the heart is full, people still need to eat...but when the stomach is full, the mind racing, and the heart aching, people still lose their sense of self. It isn't always possible to hold all three still, but it's important to continue trying. When the mind is racing, and the heart is aching...

???: "When are you coming back home?"

The silence of the cave was broken by a false voice, emptying its thoughts in only my mind. A young boy, at eight years old, sat across the fire; his deep blue eyes glared through my flesh, peering into my soul, forcing a response out of me.

Pale Boy: "You're not real..."

???: "But they were. You abandoned us! Left us behind!"

The visage's false voice deepened with emotion, clinging to my heart with every word. Just how many times would it haunt me—this falsity of the person I once knew? How many more times would I have to drive it away from me, just as I had been driven away from them?

Pale Boy: "Go away."

???: "You keep running north...what do you think you'll find up there, away from home?"

Pale Boy: "I don't want to talk to you!"

???: "You could have turned back any time...what's it been now, two years?"

Pale Boy: "I said—go!"

A piece of meat, fiercely thrown across the fire, waved away the illusion before me. My eyes, tinged with anger and unrest, finally began to calm again once I realized that it was over. The freshly cooked meat chunk quickly cooled on the cold, hard, rock flooring of the cave, expiring with every second that passed by. Quickly, quickly, quickly—a waste of perfectly good food.

Pale Boy: "Please, just leave me alone."

Curling into a ball, lying onto an open sleeping bag, I allowed the comfort of the fire and the silence of the night to take me into a slumber, leaving for the next day of travel. 

Tomorrow is a new day.

I could only part the night with those words as my final thoughts, closing the curtain to an absolutely normal day.