FORGET Amy Laurens Smashwords Edition Copyright 2011 Amy Laurens Cover design copyright 2011 Amy Laurens Cover image: Dabobabo via stock.xchng Smashwords Edition, Licence Notes Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support. Original version of ‘Forget’ first published online in Allegory eZine Vol 13 (4), September 2010. This version first performed at the ACTATE Litlinks 2010 Award Ceremony, March 2011. Discover other titles by Amy Laurens at http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/AmyLaurens FORGET By Amy Laurens He sits staring out the window, silent for the first time in weeks. They back out and close the door, taking their whisperings to the corridor. If he could still feel, he’d be glad. It is strange, this not-feeling. He can’t remember ever being so tired. He can’t remember... No, that’s just it. He can’t remember. Remember what? What? He has forgotten. He is as good as senile. We are safe. Not all the memories are gone, of course. He knows that the building in which he now lives is some sort of aged care facility. He knows that the people who gather to whisper behind his closed door are mostly relatives, with a smattering of nursing staff and press. He knows who he was, too. Simon Baker, 86, former proprietor of Deane, Baker & Sons. But no. That’s what he did, not who he was. Who was he again? He can’t remember. Remember? What? He is the last. I promise you, we are safe now. He cannot, will not, remember. But what if he does? The mindwipe was complete. He remembers nothing. It will not happen again. He scratches idly at his temple, and feels as though he’s chasing an idea that used to live there that now he can’t recall. Story of his life, these days. The nurse comes in and deposits his lunch on the table, leaving without a word. It might be sad, if he could feel sad, but he is used to it: used to the silence they’ve locked him in, both inside and out. No one talks to him now. They are polite, deferential – but silent. And in his head, where he is quite sure there used to be thoughts – see, here, in his diary? He wrote things. He must have had these thoughts in order to write them down; but they are as foreign to him as the nurse who comes in every day, the one whose name he’s sure he knows, but can’t remember. In his head, silence. Can’t remember. Remember. What? And in this room is Mr Simon Baker. You may have heard of him, he’s our most famous patient. Is he sick? No, little girl, he isn’t sick. He’s just old and fragile. There’s nothing really wrong with him, but if we let him out he might hurt himself. He can’t remember, you see. Can’t remember what? Anything. He has... Alzheimer’s, perhaps, or dementia. We’re not quite sure. That’s sad. It is a little – but he can’t remember, you see, so he can’t feel sad. So it’s all okay. Mum, look! This man can’t remember. Can’t remember? What? Outside the window a tree bends in the wind. It stirs a pleasant feeling in his chest, and he’s struck with the nagging sensation that he used to know the word for this. Once, when he was alive. Because he can’t remember now, so he mustn’t be alive. That’s what he’s decided, at any rate, and his diary agrees, so it must be true. Even the nurse, when she delivers his food, is quieter, hardly daring to breathe in his presence. He must be dead. Only the dead can’t remember. How’s he doing? Okay. I think. It’s hard to know, he doesn’t say anything. But he’s healthy? Perfectly so. I saw the doctor yesterday; he says he’s surprised at how well he’s doing for someone his age. You don’t think it might be his power sustaining— No. He can’t remember a thing! The mindwipe was complete. And it was his mind that controlled his body. If he can’t remember, he can’t think about it, and if he can’t think about it he can’t do it. No. We’re safe. Yes. I know. But is he? The exhaustion seems to be deepening, even though physically he feels fine. It might even be strange, this feeling of his – but he can’t remember what normal is, so maybe everything is normal. Maybe not remembering is normal. Maybe this cotton wool of living death is, after all, normal. Maybe he never remembered. Maybe he only dreamed of remembering. Maybe no one remembers. And in major headlines, Simon Baker, last remaining Power, died in his nursing home today. While our hearts go out to his grieving family, by all accounts this was not unexpected. Rumours say that in his last few months he contracted some form of mental degeneration, and his failing memory was the reason for the sudden loss of his powers. Although any loss is tragic, I think we can all agree that we will sleep more soundly in our beds at night knowing that there are no longer any Powers left in the world. He lay in the coffin, still. His heart beat so slowly it might as well have stopped; his mind moved glacially. But for all that, this was no worse than anything he remembered; and now he remembered. He remembered Powers clashing high in the sky, the ensuing storms destroying the earth below. He remembered War, with her flashing red eyes, and Peace, with eyes of mercy. And he remembered himself: Memory. And he remembered all the pain and suffering that ever was, all the hardships that ever will be. And he knew that some things are best forgotten. In the end, we can’t actually remember what happened. One day the world was fine, and the next... Well, it was all a mess, and it’s all sort of a blur. We – none of us – can’t really recall. But it’s a devastating war, one that’s wiped out three quarters of Earth’s population. Doesn’t anyone know why it began? That’s just the thing. No one can remember. Remember? What? END Amy Laurens is an Australian fantasy writer and high-school English teacher. She lives with her husband and two Labradors, one of whom tends to bash the laptop's keyboard to get attention. When not glued to the laptop or teaching, Amy can be found baking in the kitchen or snuggled up reading a good book. Contact Amy: Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/InkyLaurens Website: http://www.amylaurens.com/ Blog: http://ink-fever.blogspot.com/ Smashwords: http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/AmyLaurens