His amnesia had clouded his thoughts in a shroud of delusion for too long. The truth was so close he could sense it with every heartbeat, every breath, every step he took. His pulse sped rapidly as he trekked gradually up the jagged mountain road. He pined for the return of the memory that he had lost in some inexplicably bitter darkness, a darkness that had robbed him of his very identity. As he wandered that cliff he felt an anxious tug in his stomach. The air became vaguely familiar as every breath he took in filled his lungs with an aromatic fragrance. The flowers, the trees, the Pinnacle Mountains themselves called to him. They held within them the whispers of the past – echoes of a life he had once known. Within them he could hear a voice carried on by the soft wind.
A silent trickle of sweat slowly slid down his face as he continued the sentimental journey up the towering hill, if it had missed his chapped lips he would have failed to notice its presence. The usual salty taste felt bittersweet and cold, reducing his nerves to nothing. He felt a fragment of lost hope and curiosity. He moved on but his steps grew heavier as flashes of the past started to enter his mind again. Pictures of a former fallen life, unremembered. His breathing was short, the air got heavy and tasted like dust carried in by the rising dawn breeze. Sweat was now drowning his forehead as the wind picked up and fluttered his torn shirt, a symbol of the long journey that he had endured… from heaven to earth and back again – days that should not have been forgotten, but he had somehow managed to forget anyway.