Misplaced

I know I had a good life before. If only I could remember it.

I couldn't sew, I couldn't fish, I couldn't hunt, I couldn't cook, for goodness' sake I couldn't even tell the hallucinogenic mushrooms from the non-hallucinogenic ones. The list of Things I Couldn't Do was uncomfortably long.

There was, however, one pretty big thing I could do: I could heal people with just a touch of my hands.

I didn't understand it, nor did I know why or how I came by this ability, because here was the other thing: I had no memory.

Nada. Nil. Zero.

I had simply awoken on a beach, about two months ago, with my name rolling around my head, but that was it. My name was all I knew.

Just my name.

Meda.