My name?

There are so many things that are part of a name.

Memories are connected to it.

Millions of lives, thousands of lives, tens of lives, and a couple of lives are all connected. Thety all vary in their degree. My name? It is . . .I can't write it down on offical paper work because I can't remember. I believe it all started last year on a old road in the middle of the night. I had a gun beside me in the passenger seat. I was waiting for someone. But who? That day is when my memories began to slowly degrade a little more faster. Why do I still remember that day better than my entire life?

I don't know.

I couldn't sleep.

I was staring at the ceiling merely thinking.

Lettie asked me to play a game with her regarding the identities of two kind of rounded balls. One was red and the other was orange. My arms were behind my head on the pillow and perhaps I was haunted by insomnia. I couldn't be sure. I wondered how that Picard fellow was doing. Was he asleep? Was he having a better time at life than I am having? I honestly hope he is.

"Do you know what these two are?" Lettie asked.

"Red and orange." I said.

"No, silly," Lettie said. "This a apple and a orange." She peeled the skin off the orange. "These are more juicy than the apple. We get orange juice from the orange which is pretty cool in its own way."

"An orange." I repeated.

"Try eating it." Lettie said, handing me the squishy light orange ball and a plate.

I held the orange above the plate and took a bite out of it. I felt water trinkle down to my beard from down my skin. A memory came to my mind. At least a fragment of it. It was a woman. A woman who seemed to be so pissed off at me. Why was she pissed off at me? It was odd . . . Was it a real memory or fake? She threw what contents remained in her cup staining my Star Fleet uniform and getting my face wet.

I recall looking down feeling disgusted.

I saw my own shoes.

I was standing in this memory.

I wasn't paralyzed all my life as I have gone to thought.

An accident had to have happened for my paralyization.

The woman vanished in a white flash and there I saw that Picard fellow without pointy ears become outraged. We were in a relaxing area section of a Star Ship. It was so unusual because next the wet feeling on my face went away as did the stain. The Picard fellow demanded me to return the woman as I sat in a white couch making myself comfortable. Boy, did he lecture me. What did I do to deserve being treated like that? I recall rolling my eyes, snapping my fingers, and making the woman appear again covered in seaweed. The Picard fellow demanded me to leave the ship and his crew be.

I didn't catch what happened afterwards because I didn't let the memory continue.

I simply left the party going into my room for privacy.

"Come on, Old Q," I tell myself. "Close your eyes and think . . . Think about anything."

I closed my eyes to where I see a bright circular white light that felt warm and comforting. I didn't understand what it was. I felt there being . . . A person? I wanted to reach my hand toward it but I just could not. Why? My arm is stuck under my head. I couldn't force myself to wake myself up. I felt . . . I can't explain it. It was a sense of pity that felt like it would only be from a woman. It was soft. It was low. It was warm. Power radiated off the ball.

Was my eyes really closed?

L . . L . . . Q. . .

Loser Q?

Lousy Q?

Late Q?

Lady Q?

The bright light vanished before my view leaving me to darkness. Lady Q. Who is Lady Q? I could sense sadness from a source that wasn't me. Where was it coming from? The sad feeling flew away, quite literletly, into oblivion. Darkness envoured my perspective once more. No images were in my mind. My joints were numb. I could feel like I was deep and deeper into the sleeping cycle.

However it came to a abrupt halt.

I could feel like someone was picking me up.

I did not want to open my eyes.

No really, I did not.

I could hear voices.

"I knocked out the guards." Came a deep voice--Oh, that is Worf.

Beep, beep, beep.

"Apparently we underestimated them," Came a young clear male voice that sounded so. . . DATA!

I can hear the wind making a sound.

"Run!" I heard a older man.

I KNOW THAT VOICE. I KNOW THAT VOICE. I KNOW THAT VOICE. WHERE HAVE I HEARD THAT VOICE?

Who is that voice?

Riker.

Riker who?

William T. Riker.

The Picard fellow's 'Number two' or was it 'Number one'?

Fast asleep and I am juggling with answers to questions on voices. Nice touch there. Now the only thing that would make this my best dream in the past eight months would be having to be told my name. My name means everything to me. It means walking around calling myself something I am entirely proud of. To be content. To be happy. To wither away with the knowledge of who I am.

"Hide!" Worf ordered.

Worf ordered one of the two to hide.

There were a stampede of boots hitting the floor beneath.

Ah, so I am on the ceiling somehow . . . Hm . . .Interesting.

There was enough silence that sound became irrelevant and I was very asleep.