AN/disclaimer. I don't own the characters nor the place.

Alice looked up as the boy and the old woman walked into the room. She didn't who either of them were, but they visited her often. She got off of her bed and walked over to them, casting a glance at the motionless man beside her.

She could tell the old woman didn't want to be there all too much. There was a look of pity and pride in her eyes. Looking back at the boy, she gazed into his eyes. His were always the same, full of hope and wonder. She smiled at him and looked back at the man in the bed. He had yet to move.

The boy looked at the man too before turning back to her. The old woman just rolled her eyes and huffed. Alice looked again at the woman and wanted to reach out to her, but her hands were unmoving. She wanted to say something, but her voice had stopped working, possibly had never worked.

Again she turned to the boy she didn't know. He was special, that much she knew. Always smiling softly when she saw him and always smelling slightly of dirt. He reminded her of freedom, of escaping the room that she had been in as long as she could remember. From behind his back the boy pulled out a strange plant with bright petals. Reaching out to touch it, she gasped when the petals closed, creating a dark blue line. Then she moved her fingers through the dirt, closing her eyes. She could almost remember something, the feel of the dirt in her finger, the laughter or a child in the background.

The old woman coughed and Alice opened her eyes again, the dreamy memory fading from her mind. They boy put the plant on the table between hers and the man's bed. She gazed at the plant for a bit, watching it slowly open again. She looked back over to the boy, grinning. Her eyes widened as she saw the woman and the boy walking towards the door. They couldn't be leaving her now, could they?

A strange rasp came from her mouth and the boy turned. She reached into her pocket, looking for something, anything, to give to the boy. She found a wrapper. For some reason they were always there, and that was what she always gave the boy. She placed the wrapper into the boys hand and closed both of hers over his. Looking deeply into the boys eyes, she silently begged for the boy to remember her, even if she could not remember him.

She smiled at the boy she didn't know as the old woman led him out of the room. She felt proud of the boy and turned back to the plant. After a few weeks the plant died, as did the memory of the boy and the old woman. After a month it was a pot of dirt, then it was a pot of wrappers.