He remembered playing in the sand, and running around all day until nightfall. Building sand castles, catching crabs and urchins and sword fights with planks of wood. He remembered a reddish-brown haired girl and a boy with locks of silver. Their names were a fleeting memory he couldn't quite grasp, and he wondered why these thoughts seemed so very far away.
It was as though they weren't really his to begin with, but that's absurd, right?
Even though he was sure they were his to remember, he didn't know what to make of the irrational feeling of not belonging to this plane. There was something wrong with his existence, and the fact that his childhood seemed hazier than most other kids his age. Why couldn't he remember in more detail?
Why, in the name of all that is holy and good, did it feel like he wasn't who he thought he was?