The City Of Memories

[HyBriD54 0]

An admin on our Xisto hosted forum wrote this. We thought we'd like to share it with you.

 

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He is thin; pale like the snow covering the delicate branches of the trees in winter, with a grim expression on his elongated face. Mercy is something unfamiliar to this man sitting at a desk in front of and away from me, with his fingers typing away on a loud keyboard, and his eyes focused on the display screen feeding his complex brain. But no matter how complex he may be, I know exactly what he is thinking.

 

He is wondering what to take away from me next. How I even got to this abominable place, I do not know. All I know is that I am sitting in a windowless room behind someone who is slowly demolishing every memory I have ever possessed.

 

I do not know how far he has gone and I pray for someone to save me. My very life is being wrestled out of me?

 

I am lying on a hospital bed. The searing pain in my waist is starting to fade, but I keep on screaming. Lights above my closed eyelids flash rapidly, and the cold metal object at my feet sends a frozen shockwave through my entire body.

 

My breathing slows down, and the lights turn off. The object is removed, and someone calls my name. A warm embrace from my parents smothers the icy tingle still rushing through my body. I can hear them sigh with relief, and I do the same. My body still aches from the operation, but at least my soul is at ease.

 

My eyes widen with fear. The vision was ridiculously clear. I was reliving my past; every single physical and emotional sensation was real.

 

The sinister man at the table turns around on his swivelling chair and stares at me. He knows exactly what has just happened. He made it happen.

 

?Ready?? he asks with a bitter voice. It is a rhetorical question and I do not respond. His finger strikes the Enter key on his keyboard with one quick movement; violently, like a deranged woodpecker.

 

The machine sitting behind me starts to rumble. While I do not know what it looks like, I can work out enough from what I hear. It is large, loud, and above all, capable of inflicting pain. Whatever it is doing sends me into a fit of involuntary spasms. The pain is not physical; it is psychological. My mind is being crippled and I am unable to think?

 

It feels like hours before I am able to gather myself again. I gaze ahead at the man, who is still not moving away from his display screen. He surprises me by turning around, and beckoning me towards him.

 

I come forward and he opens a file on his computer. It is a photo of two strange people holding me ? friendly and loving, but I cannot say who they are.

 

?Do you recognise them?? the man asks me, forcing yet another question on me. I shake my head furiously. I can deduce what has happened. He has obliterated an entire block in my city of memories, sparing nothing.

 

?Why are you doing this?? I demand. ?I need to know what is going on. You have nothing to lose by telling me ? it seems that you are in control anyway.?

 

?I am looking for a particular memory to destroy,? he replies calmly. ?There is something that you know about me which no one must ever know. It is a secret which I will keep until I am cold, dead, and buried. But in the process of finding it, I might have to step on a few stray memories. It is like digging for buried treasure??

 

A smile forms on my face. This will be the last time we will see each other for a very long time. As much as I hate to say goodbye, I know that we won?t forget each other - something this important cannot be forgotten. As we embrace, I whisper a promise. ?I won?t forget you?.

 

Fury boils up inside me, drowning out my fear. How dare he attempt to violate that part of my memories? I made a promise and I will keep it. Ignoring the fact that I am essentially held at gunpoint by the contraption behind me, I stand up threateningly.

 

?I wouldn?t do that if I were you,? he warns me. ?One single command and I could make your brain forget how to function. I could kill you. I don?t want to kill you; I am not a murderer. But you must understand that this is more important than you are. I will kill you if I have to. If you die, then at least the memory dies with you.?

 

I am disarmed, and I sit down quietly. He hits the keyboard once again, but this time I am ready. The memory is still fresh in my mind, and I play it over and over again. I feel the happiness of the scene, and the happiness of everything it represents. I feel the warmth. I hear my own voice?

 

?I won?t forget you.? It resonates like a bell in a tunnel.

 

?I won?t forget you? I won?t forget??

 

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In every living person there is a section of the mind that holds a vast city. Major roads from other parts of the mind send in supplies every day to keep the citizens happy, but also bring in countless tourists, coming to visit the renowned attractions of this city.

 

This is the city of memories. The streets turn erratically, for the city is designed without logic of any sort. There are no maps to help you if you decide to visit and incidentally get lost, for a new landmark is being built every single day.

 

Some places are very well taken care of, for they are recognised for being eternally important. Of these, many are regarded for being vital to the survival of the person?s mind, but others are respected for bringing joy. For every bank, there is an art gallery. For every police station, there is a theatre. For every factory, there is a public park.

 

Memories have the practical use of helping us retain important information. A name, a face, a place, a phone number. At the same time, however, they bring cheer when we most need it. The next time you lie awake at night, plagued by insomnia, remember that there is a place you can visit at your leisure. Visit the city of memories?

Edited November 7, 2008 by HyBriD54 (see edit history)