Shadows of Memory...

The pulse within the womb resonates loudly - akin to a church bell's resounding toll, awakening the entire town. It pounded swiftly, carrying warmth as blood coursed through me. The muffled, gentle sound imprinted itself within my mind. Before contractions began, my world was bathed in a pinkish-orange glow that filtered through the belly. The squeezing and pushing followed, accompanied by the inaugural sensation of pain - ecstatic, like a dance of flames in motion. The light overwhelmed my vision, cold seeping into my skin, enveloping me in shivers.

Fate had it that I never glimpsed my mother's visage. When offered the chance to hold me, she declined. So, I lay in a basket, my face obscured by a blanket. A fragment of her features - eyes, lips, or jawline - would have been etched in memory till my end, a tether to my mother. However, it might have led to a life consumed by pursuit. She bequeathed me only the memory of her fingertips.

The orphanage was a somber abode, though not as dreadful as one might envision, particularly when it constitutes your sole abode. Its grievous flaw lay in its erasure of one's senses, gradually numbing until the ground gave way, plunging into boundless oblivion.

Five years transpired before realizing my extraordinary prowess: memory retention at will. I coined it the "burning process." When desiring to remember, I'd gaze with an artist's intensity, tracing contours, edges, and hues. Becoming a painter, I recreated scenes from varied angles. Beauty was collected, while unsightly recollections dimmed into forgetfulness. The vivid hue of roses, the delicate sky's blue, lush grass's green - yet, humans held unparalleled allure.

The orphanage rarely harbored beauty, yet when it did, friendship was swiftly formed. Ms. Frost, a sporadic teacher, was my first selection. In her twenties, her skin was soft as she tapped it with a cushion-like tenderness. Round, plump lips akin to blossoming buds. She imparted knowledge, teaching me to spell "Valerie." Each letter enunciated with care: "V" by her teeth grazing her lip's interior, "al" with tongue retracted, and "Lerie" elevating her lips' corners in a near-smile.

Beau, a short-lived presence, was the epitome of beauty. His swift adoption compressed our friendship into brief span. Daylight hours were spent as siblings, laughter echoing. In night's embrace, I painted his round cheeks and long, fine lashes - ephemeral as duty-bound shadows. Hazel eyes, green melding like leaves amidst branches. The loss echoed as his plump fingers departed without kissing my palms.

At seven, height granted access to the mirror's reflection, unveiling a vivid self-portrayal. Meeting my gaze, twin eyes seemed capable of shattering the glass into innumerable gleaming fragments. I wasn't as picturesque as Beau or Ms. Frost, yet possessed distinct features: a steep jaw, straight nose bridge, lids veiling eyes like moss over pebbles. My unfathomable green eyes beckoned, pulling me in. For the first time, genuine interest stared back.

That night, I lay pondering the reflection. A profound connection forged instantly. The resolute girl in the mirror symbolized family, protection. With her willpower, I'd thrive, achieving all desires. Orphanage time slowed; practice consumed days. A mental sculpture of self emerged.

Occasional walks were sanctioned by the director. The forest beckoned - sun and green leaves colliding in a blaze of orange light. Bark patterns, ant trails, sharp leaf points captivated. Deadly stillness embraced the forest's outskirts, yielding to a symphony deeper within. Birdsong, gentle wind melodies, hues adorning a blackbird. Inhaling tangible mint air, dawn's haze met crystalline sunshine, silver webs trapping fate. A world where silence spoke what human words could not.

The forest cleansed numbness's clutch, washing away memories, obsession, and gray's grip. Seventeen arrived, the forest a nurturing childhood guardian.

Earning was simple. Top scores and certificates bestowed roles - model selector, art authenticator, time-stretched accountant's aide. Unfulfilled past rewarded with homes, attire, travel. Superficial, some claimed, but currency's sway yielded empowerment. Invincibility surged, until vulnerability was starkly reminded.

Returning home late, glistening streets resembled stardust under lamplight. Midnight's pitch, chilling breeze, an eerie entombment. Orange and yellow apartment lights cast shadow-play curtains. A squeal, instantly stifled, spun me towards danger. Key wielded like a weapon, I advanced, silence paramount. An untraceable path led to a man, knife gleaming under moonlight's shroud. Dark coat glistened, matching the liquid from his victim's neck. Her head drooped, white neck streaming red.

Breath bated, I hastened to the police, recounting the scene. Detective summoned, blood-soaked girl's fate sealed. Questions posed. Intrigued empathy, though fitting, lined the detective's eyes. Collaboration enlisted.

Restless, replaying night's horrors, gloves and coat revisited memory. Morning's pink-orange hue accompanied my stroll, streets once laden with death reborn.

Incarcerated suspects numbered four: blue-eyed, two brown-eyed, and a green-eyed youth. The last, a trembling dove before a predator, stirred empathy. Green eyes met mine, conviction surged.

The detective concurred, securing the culprit. Fury once aimed outward turned inward. I visited a graveyard, laying symbolic drops over unnamed graves.

In the mirror, I glimpsed a girl - ruthless, stunningly so. My mother's blood coursed, guilt simmered. Power surged, ready to destroy, even self. The world became predator and prey, the dualism coursing within my veins.