Lethe

Every night, he nearly recalls strange dreams; they seem to be warning him of something...although what, he can't recall. Upon waking, he shrugs off a vague cloak of unease, and drinks again from the cooling currents.

Stirrings of guilt overshadow my cavalier fascination, as I observe him and his compatriots from the world above. Still, what better proof that we are born with our temperament largely predisposed? For, behold: some, remembering nothing of their lives, are happy nonetheless...and others, without memory of pleasures earned and discovered, feel only emptiness and sorrow.