It did seem as though there were ways of beginning again, of forgetting all that had happened and starting anew. The past was over, gone and out of reach. She knew there was nothing she could do to change it. The only option she had was to leave if all behind, forget about it, move somewhere new where no-one knew her and invent a whole new past; she had done it before and knew she could easily do it again.
After all, she knew that the past was changeable, that people remembered only what they wanted to remember and forgot about the rest. She knew she could hide it all, at least from everyone else. She knew, from all her past lives, that they would come back and haunt her at those odd times. Those times when the past broke through into the present when some thing, some insignificant object, word or gesture brought a flood of old discarded memories back. Alternatively, those times in the deep heart of the night when the mind churns through itself looking for patterns it can shape and all those old memories are churned up like some muddy river bottom.
She knew all that, but she also knew the joys of starting over again, of inventing a completely new life for herself; of becoming whoever she wanted to become.
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