The skies were cloud grey and rain was washing their grief away. His thin hair was in his face, some silver, some black. She was completely soaked, feet to head. They were not smiling, but facing each other as their minds were desperately trying to verbalize the moment. She opened her mouth to say, but he laughed.
She was weird, twisted, part because of her clothes, part because of how he was seeing her: strange, but she was more or less like him, specially in the big black coat. In her head, a hat too big for her head. Her wet hair of a chestnut brown.
Her eyes... a greyish gaze that annoy me, because they seem to look at my own thoughts as if they were... touchable. But soon he would realize that was not completely truth. Her eyes were just windows and grey was the mist in her mind.
- Who are you? - He asked. - What's your name?
- I don't know. - She answered.
- You don't know your own name?
- I don't remember.
He smiled.
- You can't remember your own name, still you remember that once were things you knew, but not anymore.
- Stop with this game. Words are wind and you can't hit me with yours. - She said abruptly - We both know you are a monster as much as I.
A monster, he thought bitterly. And she was somehow right and wrong at the same time. A monstrosity with a lot of names.
He liked to call it a gift when she used the term "schizophrenia" for the voices they heard.
