Anamnesis

Anamnesis

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Anamnesis

Anamnesis (an-am-ne-sis)- A recalling to memory; recollection

Disclaimer: I do not own Trigun.

I can remember exactly when it began. It was two years ago. I laid there in the rubble of my own creation, my own destruction. My head hurt, like it had so many years ago after I destroyed July and I knew I had lost some memories. However, I wasn't concerned with that. My eyes were glued to the sky that was no longer the peaceful blue but a blood red.

 

Red.

I indolently glanced down at my duster.

Disgusting.

I ripped it off, which wasn't hard since it was already torn to the point that it was falling off anyway. I threw the repulsing article into the wind. I didn't deserve to wear that color.

“Rem…would it be wrong for me to lay here and wait for death? Would it? Why does this happen? Why?” By now tears were falling down my face. “Please Rem…tell me...what should I do?”

A sharp pain struck my head. I didn't even wince. I deserved every bit of pain for what I did.

Then came her voice.

“Ugh, Vash! You're such a broomhead! Would you get up already? All you ever do is lie around!”

The woman’s voice wasn't Rem’s, yet I found comfort in it.

I then stood and walked. I had no destination or purpose. I simply listened to her words.

Weeks later I found myself in a small town in the middle of nowhere. I was tired and dirty and stumbled into a nearby ally. ‘How cliché.’ If I could have, I would have smiled at this sad scene. There I was sitting in the ally surrounded by trash and human waste.

 

That’s all I was when it came down to it, really.

Human waste.

My thoughts then trailed off to the voice of the woman that I have been hearing for weeks. Whenever I was felt alone her voice would trickle into my head. She gave me the determination and courage I needed to move on. Much like what Rem’s voice has done for me. Only this new voice was different.

She insulted me.

It was her cruelty and mocking remarks that had kept me going for reasons unknown to me. All the same, without them I would probably have killed myself from grief.

Rem’s voice, however, had a face to go with it.

A name.

An identity.

A source.

This new voice had none of that. For all I knew I was simply making it up.

“Hello? Are you alright?”

I was ripped from my thoughts and looked up to see a small woman. She was tiny and had short dark hair. She was carrying groceries and looked down at me with a questioning glaze.

I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. I haven't talked in a while.

She smiled at me and then my head began to ache again.

Her face!

It was her face!

The voice of the woman!

My head began to swarm with memories, as if they have been freed from a chest that was long locked away. I remembered her short purple hair, her violet eyes, and her little white uniform. Everything about her flooded back to me so hard that I nearly blacked out.

A representative for the Bernardelli Insurance Society...

Twenty-Four hour surveillance...

She's really quite nice, she bought the doughnuts...

Your job or your life!

I remembered every detail, every memory, every moment with her.

Except for her name.

Damn it, what was her name?

“Don’t try to talk. You must be from Augusta. You poor thing." Her voice trailed off.

I began to go through the alphabet, ‘A B C D E F…F? Did her name start with F? No. G?’

"I'm Lina and don’t you worry; Grandma and I can help you.”

I didn't even notice the girl extend her hand to me, or the fact that I had taken it. I was too deep in thought.

Days turned into weeks and weeks into months and before I realized it I had been staying with Grandma Sheryl and Lina for two years, and even then the memories of Augusta haunted me. I often had nightmares of the ordeal and as time passed my memory began to return. I soon learned that it was I who put the hole in the fifth moon.

 

I decided to put Vash the Stampede to rest and became Ericks, the peaceful man who always ended up in the hospital. But even as Ericks the insurance’s girl voice still lingered.

One morning as I was brushing my teeth and looked up in the bathroom mirror and heard her say, “Does this man look like the legendary gunman Vash the Stampede? That droopy-eyed, weak-looking, bristle-headed, promiscuous-looking donut freak of a man?”

I spat the toothpaste into the sink and smiled at the mirror, “I think you got the wrong guy, insurance girl. This is Ericks. Vash is dead.”

I still couldn't remember her name though and it bothered me. I remembered her partner’s name was Millie Thompson and the traveling priest was Nicholas D. Wolfwood.