◄ReplÄy◄ (Chapter FOUR Added!)

Maturity: Medium/High. This is because this may go against your religion and there will be death, but not very detailed. There will also be mild romance. Also, it involves a mother giving birth to her baby.

Fantasy: HIGH.

- - - - - -
Please do not plagiarize.
- - - - - -





◄RePlAy◄
&&all.those.memories.gone.to.waste.&&




Prologue:
It was almost the end of another long Mijalk. Yori was absolutely exhausted. He continued to work, though not as fluently as he should've. Because he made a terrible mistake. One that could ruin the secret. But, it went unnoticed.

They all resumed their jobs.
Their jobs of eliminating the memories of others.
And creating them again.




Chapter 1 ◄◄ The Beginning of the End.
Maple sped down the highway, her and her friends solely listening to the music playing on the radio. High pitched giggles filled the old Toyota, as well as terrible singing voices. Maple was focusing less and less on her driving and more on the words radiating from the speakers of the car. Her friends didn't seem to notice and they continued to have fun. Suddenly, a large truck pulled lazily from Exit 51. The truck made a sloppy turn. The driver tried his best to avoid hitting the little silver Toyota speeding towards him, but instead hit it head on.

Maple opened her eyes as the song on the radio ended, finally registering that she was driving, and she needed to focus on the road. Her eyes grew wide as she noticed the large 18-wheeler right in front of her and her foot searched desperately for the brake. She found it, but not soon enough. Maple's car hit the 18-wheeler with a horrendous, deathly crash. The girls' last memory of earth was the each other's screaming faces, before slipping into blackness.




Chapter 2 ◄◄ Yet Another Beginning.
I used to wonder about how I'd die. I used to wonder what would happen after I would die; would I meet God? Or would it just be blackness and boredom for eternity? Or would I just perish, my mind not working anymore? Well, I wasn't very aware of what was going on. I was just dreaming. Dreaming of earthly things. I honestly don't think I knew I was dead. I was just dreaming of my memories, my whole life in fast forward. Soon, I felt those memories being washed away. I didn't know how it was happening, but every year of my life would vanish. I had an immensely painful headache. I don't remember seeing anything: there wasn't any golden light or nothingness. It's a feeling, or state of being rather, that I can't place. But there continued to be dreams, memories, thing that I couldn't place.

Suddenly, an absolutely gorgeous face came into view as my eyes flickered open, but my eyes sealed shut a moment later. That seemingly flawless, gorgeous face seemed overwhelmed with tiredness. He seemed to be working hard, though. I thought I must be dreaming, having another memory that I couldn't remember, but it seemed too real to be just a memory. I tried to reach out to touch it, see if it was real, tangible, but I realized I couldn't control my arms. My body felt weightless: actually, it felt as if there was no body at all. It felt as if I completely mixed as one with the air.

Then, as quickly as this adventure had began, it stopped. I don't even remember how, but it just stopped. Completely.

But, I still had the feeling of memories. I remembered some things, even though I they seemed to be concealed in thick fog. Again, it's something else that I cannot exactly place. But it was an extremely complicated feeling. It's so confusing to understand: I can't even begin to comprehend what it felt like, needless to say, explain it. But suddenly, I felt the world around me swirl. I immediately felt my body parts seem to come back. I felt like something was wrong. A seed had been planted in my stomach... one that would sprout into something more exciting and unbelievable as I grew up and discovered my fate.




Chapter 3 ◄◄ Back at the Start Line.
Looking into room 314 of New Hanover Regional Hospital, you could see a woman giving birth to a healthy little baby girl. Her husband was holding his birthing wife's hand with extreme pressure: he was in more pain and shock than his wife, Layla, was. His stomach became weak, but he wouldn't leave Layla's side. Layla looked up at her husband, George, and took a deep breath. Through her eyes, George could see that Layla was indeed scared, and in pain. George pushed back his tears: it hurt him to see Layla in such pain, just as much as it hurt Layla giving birth to the baby, Maple.

You see, this is the fifty second time this seven pound, three ounce baby had been born. Though nobody in this room knew that they had seen this baby birthed fifty two times. The little baby knew this, though. Her mind just hadn't developed enough. She wasn't even out of her mother's stomach yet . . . cut her some slack.

One hour later, little baby Maple was resting in her mother's arms in the hospital bed for the fifty second time. Layla looked at Maple with admiration, absolutely fascinated by her little arms and feet. Maple's intense hazel eyes opened, and shockingly, she didn't cry. Maple just stared at her mother's face. She didn't know how, but this was the person she loved most. This woman, holding her, was the center of her world at the moment. Maple was transfixed by her mother's soft blue eyes and curly brown hair. Her mother smiled at the baby, and then began to lift her up. Maple trusted her, and was tossed over to a man. The man had her same eyes, maybe a little less striking. His hair was blonde, and would most likely be unruly if it was longer. He looked at her kindly and smiled. George was nervous, clammy, and also, shaking. Maple had a moment of insecurity, wondering if he didn't like her or want her. But she could tell, behind the nervousness and clamminess, he loved her and wanted her. Maple felt comfortable again, and squirmed into a more comfortable position.

Layla looked up at George with pride.

"That's our baby," she spoke softly.

George didn't even speak. He felt tears form in his eyes, and even though he tried to push them back, he cried. He cried because he was happy that he had a little girl to call his own, he cried because he was scared and wondered if he was going to be a good father, he cried because he longed to give this little girl everything he had. George cried for a lot of reasons.

Layla cried, too. She was so amazed and happy with this baby. Words couldn't even describe how much she loved this baby, or how much she made her hurt. Layla wanted to be the best mother to this baby.

Maple knew why her parents cried. She knew that they were happy with her, and it made her feel wanted. Now what she wanted to do, was go to sleep. She'd taken part in the journey outside the womb, too, and Maple was exhausted.

So, still in George's arms, Maple quickly drifted off to sleep.





Chapter 4 ◄◄ Three Years into Life.
Maple's eyes flickered open, and she sat motionless in her wooden crib for a few moments. She studied her surroundings with curiosity, even though they remained the same as yesterday. Maple began to push herself up into a standing position, and she gripped the crib rails, her knuckles white. Her intense hazel eyes began to water: no one was here. There was nobody waiting in her pale yellow rocking chair, or at the foot of her crib, or in the doorway of her room. Her lip quivered, suddenly feeling alone. Against her will, Maple began to cry. She'd trusted her mother to be there, or her father. Tears streamed down her cheeks, when suddenly, her bedroom door opened. Her mother stepped in, her stomach bulging under her white gown.

Rushing to the side of Maple's crib, her mother had a worried look on her face. As Layla picked up Maple, Maple felt a flood of relief. Her mother was there; she'd been waiting for her. She'd been just out the door, awaiting the moment when Maple woke up.

Maple looked up at her mother with forgiveness in her expression. Maple rested her head in the crook of Layla's neck, her heart rate beginning to drop from the previous excitement. She felt her mother begin to walk, and Maple turned her head around in wonderment of where they'd be going. Her mother finally walked into the living room. The warm, chocolate brown walls welcomed Maple, and she let out a sigh of contentment. Suddenly, this very memory of being in this room, resting in her mother's arms, with the chocolate walls enclosed around her. Maple began to stir, not comfortable with this feeling. She hated it. Her mother sensed her bewilderment, and began to rock Maple back and forth softly.

Maple smiled, the feeling gone. She was a smart little girl at the age of three; she knew how to speak pretty fluently now. She could also read some words, to Layla and George's amazement, without any help from them. Oddly enough, she knew the sounds and uses of some of the letters, and could form them into correct words without any trouble. Her mind seemed to have stored this information from what felt like, tons of years ago. Her parents didn't think much of it, just thinking she was particularly exceptional for her age.

Suddenly, Maple's orange sippy-cup appeared in front of her. Maple eagerly arched her neck for the drink, which was milk, and sipped quickly. She heard Layla giggle, then felt a kick from her mother's stomach. As Maple drank the milk, she thought. Her mother was pregnant; she was well aware of that fact. She wasn't exactly sure when her sibling would be born, who it would be, or what it would look like. Even though she felt a little insecure about the ordeal, she was excited. She didn't know what it'd be like to have something else here, and her parents tried to explain to her as much as her intelligent mind could grasp. Maple took a final sip of the milk before it was gone. Her mother took away the sippy-cup and stuck offered Maple her 'binkey.' She took it without hesitation and stuck it in her mouth.

She looked at her mother's expression, filled with the same fascination on her face the day she'd been born.

Maple took out her binkey for a moment.

"Whare is Daddy?" She asked, her childish voice showing through.
"He's at work, hun. He'll be back soon, I promise," Her mother responded.
"Oh," Maple responded.

She wasn't completely satisfied with the answer: she didn't know what work was. She didn't know where it took place, or when it'd be over. Longing for George to come home, Maple's eyes began to fill with tears. Forcing them back, she held her composure. But, Layla noticed. Bobbing Maple softly up and down made the three year old feel much better and comforted. Suddenly, Maple was struck with another moment of déja vu. The little girl began to whine and moan at the discomfort of the feeling. She didn't like it at all, that was for certain. But she couldn't place the feeling, exactly. Squirming, Layla tried to comfort her child. Then, the disappeared, just as quickly as it came . Layla's little girl sighed with relief, and her expression seemed to relax. Maple tried to forget about the experience, and she pushed the torturous thoughts to the back of her mind.