tracks

She can’t recognize the tracks in the sand. 

She can’t remember much, anyway. There’s the sand and treeline at her back, and then there’s the body of water before her, stretched out towards a horizon she’s never seen. The wall of fog keeps it from her. She doesn’t ask why because she doesn’t even know what she would ask—she has no concept for what’s beyond her sight, for anything she hasn’t felt since she awoke on this beach a few days ago. 

But there have never been tracks in the sand before that weren’t hers. 

The trees behind her seem to vibrate as she ponders this, leaning forward just slightly as if wishing to hear her thoughts. She speaks her mind aloud, usually. With no one around to hear her, it has never mattered before. And the possible presence of another person doesn’t change this, even if it should. 

“Tracks? My tracks? No—” she checks her own footprint next to the one she’s inspecting. “No, they’re bigger, but not by much. I guess they could be mine?” 

She plops herself down next to the prints, tilting her head slightly while she thinks. Time passes, but her understanding of the passage of moments and seconds is shaky at best—the fog’s approach is the only thing that convinces her time even exists in this place at all. 

Her hips begin to grow uncomfortable, and she shifts out of a criss-cross applesauce position. Something dashes through her mind, whispering just loud enough for her to hear. 

“I hate criss-cross applesauce,” she says to herself. 

The fog inches closer.

“I hate criss-cross applesauce?”

Ever closer it reaches, its approach barely visible from her seat on the beach. 

“I…”

Waves rise and fall against the sand almost silently. There are no seagulls to cry out when she tries again.

“I hate...something. Something? What?”

She feels cold, and as her mind bleeds further into oblivion and the fog approaches even closer, she forgets about criss-cross applesauce, and she forgets about the footprints, too. 

Later—how much later, she can hardly discern, since the fog doesn’t look to have moved any, but it must have, it obviously must have—she sees the footprints again. 

She can’t recognize the tracks in the sand. 

She’s certain she’s alone here. 

Isn’t she?

But she has no basis of normalcy to pull from. So, she falls again into that spiral, losing more of herself in the tumble. 

She’s less sure, now that she’s alone. 

She looks out towards the fog for what feels like the thousandth time. It’s thick, impossible to see through. It looks solid, but something tells her that it isn’t—something solid couldn’t reach for her the way the fog does, its edges forming tendrils that seem to pull itself towards her one inch at a time. She doesn’t know what will happen when it finally reaches her, when it satisfies the hunger that she knows it has for her. 

The terror that grips her lunges from somewhere she didn’t know existed, from a place she can’t  possibly understand. The fog’s pace seems to pick up, and only when she turns and stumbles towards the trees does she realize she’s hyperventilating. 

She falls to her hands and knees, her legs failing to keep up with the pace her frantic mind has set for them. Her hands plant deeply into the sand, and she prepares to launch herself back up. She needs to get away from the fog, from its hunger and its incessant approach— 

She doesn’t recognize the tracks in the sand, the ones directly in front of her face, but this time they don’t perplex her. They don’t stump her or force her to pause, sitting idly while the horizon creeps closer. No, this time, it sets something within her alight, and for the first time in weeks, she’s able to latch onto a thought and keep it in her mind.

Follow the tracks. Follow the tracks. Follow the tracks. 

She pushes herself to her feet and begins to follow the tracks. She repeats her mantra in her head whenever she can feel it begin to slip away, an occurrence that always coaxes dread from within her chest.

If she doesn’t find the tracks’ maker soon, she never will. She knows this. And she hasn’t known much for a long time. 

The footprints veer to the right, leading her towards the trees. She doesn’t stop, even though she can feel something tugging at her back, trying to pull her towards the silent ocean and the encroaching wall behind her. As she runs through the treeline, a shock courses through her, and the pain yanks a gasp from her throat as she briefly stumbles. She catches herself on the nearest tree branch, and the bark carves into her palms. 

She holds onto it tighter. The burning sensation invigorates her, and she feels more awake than she has since waking up on the beach. 

For the first time, she wonders if there was something before that day. If she was something before that day. 

If she was, why would she be here now? 

“Who did this to me?” 

She falls to her knees. Grief tears at her clothing and threatens to drive itself into her flesh. 

She knows she’s lost something. She knows she’s lost everything. 

She just wishes she knew what she’s lost. 

“So, you’re finally awake. I was wondering if you’d ever follow the tracks. It was kinda pathetic to watch, honestly.” 

Her head shoots up. There’s a stranger standing before her; she’s tall, intimidating, her skin reflecting the brown of the tree bark around her. She doesn’t look amused. She definitely doesn’t look impressed. But there is relief there, settling in the purple of her eyes. 

“Purple eyes?”

The stranger’s eyebrows raise slightly. “Do you remember what they mean?”

“I...they…” No matter how hard she tries, she can’t. She falls back onto her butt. “I can’t,” she whispers. 

There’s sympathy in the stranger’s eyes. She looks away for a moment, her jaw clenched tightly. She shakes her head, blowing a hard breath out through her nose. 

“Your name?”

She doesn’t understand. “My what?”

The stranger steps forward, finally lowering herself down to one knee. The purple seems more vibrant at her proximity. 

“Your name. My name is Elise. That’s what people call me. Elise. Do you remember what people used to call you?”

She tilts her head. “What people?”

The stranger—or, Elise, actually—turns away. 

“Shit,” Elise mutters to herself. “I didn’t think it would work this fast.” 

“I don’t understand.” Her eyes are beginning to fill with…water? She reaches up, alarmed. 

Elise scoffs, standing and turning away from her, giving her space. She can’t tell whether or not she appreciates that. She’s not used to this—her eyes filling with water. All she knows is that it hurts deep in her chest and in the back of her throat.

“Yeah, you’re not gonna understand anything if we don’t find a way out of here, like, soon. Very soon,” Elise rubs her hand over her eyes. 

Despair descends.

“Hey,” Elise continues after a tense moment passes. “Do you mind if I...name you?”

She stares at Elise, wide-eyed. She doesn’t understand the purpose. 

“It’s just easier if I can call you something. Since you can’t remember your own name, I’ll come up with one for you. Sound good?”

She just nods. It’s not like she knows better. 

Elise nods back. “Good. How about…Juli? That’s my mom’s name. Well, that probably doesn’t mean anything to you, but yeah. It’s a good name. For good people.” 

She sounds it out: “Ju-li?” 

She—Juli—smiles just slightly. 

“Alrighty.” Elise holds her hand out for Juli to take. Hesitantly, she reaches up and allows herself to be pulled to her feet. 

“Let’s find a way out of here,” Elise says, beginning to pull Juli further into the forest. 

“Wait.” Juli stops walking. Elise turns, looks down at Juli’s hand, which is now gripping Elise’s tight enough to make her wince. Juli notices, swallows thickly, and lets go. Elise rubs her hand. 

“We don’t have time to wait.”

“Tell me what’s happening.”

Elise shakes her head.

“No point.”

Juli bristles. She’s not used to controlling her emotions.

“Yes, point.”

Elise’s eyes narrow. “You won’t understand. It’s a waste of time. I’ll figure it out, and I’ll take you with me. You don’t need to do anything. It’s not like you can, anyway.” She turns, starts to walk away. 

“No!”

Elise freezes. 

Juli heaves, forcing back the water in her eyes. When she closes them, the droplets still fall. She doesn’t like how they blur her vision or how they clog her nose. 

She doesn’t like how she doesn’t even know what they are. 

“Please,” she starts. “If you’re here, then you’ve lost everything, too. We’ve both lost everything. But—” she almost loses it; her train of thought is almost derailed, and it all ebbs and flows back and away from her, the fog taking more, and more, and more. 

She holds on. 

“But at least you know what you’ve lost. Why you’ve lost it. Who took it. I don’t know anything besides the fog and the beach and that you’re the first person I’ve seen.” She shakes her head, corrects herself. “Or, that I remember seeing.” 

Elise half-turns. Juli holds her breath. 

“You actually want to know all that?”

“Yes.”

Elise shakes her head. “I don’t think you do.”

“I know I do.”

They’re gazes hold for a few long, tense moments. Neither relents. The silent wind lifts their hair and clothes, but it doesn’t have the strength to prompt either of them to speak.

Until— 

“It’s because they couldn’t change us. And now we know. So, they’re trying to make us forget.”

Juli is taken aback. This statement doesn’t help her at all. “What does that mean?”

Twisted emotion rushes over Elise’s face. Her shoulders hunch forward just slightly.

“You and I—and whoever came before you—we’re immune.” Elise finally meets Juli’s gaze. “When the...changing doesn’t work, it does this.” She points to her purple eyes, and then to Juli’s face. Juli reaches up as if to touch her own eyes, stopping short. Elise watches her silently.

A beat passes. Elise stands up straight again. “That’s all you need to know. You’re not gonna understand anything else. Or you’ll forget it in the next hour.”

“So when the fog reaches us, what’ll happen?”

Elise closes her eyes. Breathes. 

“They’ll get exactly what they want.”

Juli can’t say anything. 

She wonders how much closer the fog has gotten since she first saw the prints on the beach. 

Juli can barely remember her name. 

Elise has to remind her every time, because whenever she forgets, it terrifies her. The fog’s approach seems to have quickened, and Juli now struggles to understand anything Elise says.

Elise still tries to find an escape from this place, even after all the time that’s passed. Juli doesn’t understand why. She knows the fog is beginning to take Elise’s mind, too. There’s no reason for Elise to continue fighting. 

There is no escape. Soon, the fog will affect Elise in the way it’s affected Juli, and she’ll understand, too. 

“It’s easier this way,” Juli says. She doesn’t care if Elise is actually listening or not. It’s just nice to speak aloud. 

Waves rise and fall against the sand almost silently, and there are no seagulls to cry out in anguish when she finally surrenders herself to the fog’s approach. 

This time, when she forgets her name, she doesn’t ask Elise to remind her of it.