I used to know someone

I used to know someone who lost the Game. I don’t remember their name, or what they looked like. All I know is that they were there once. I think they worked in the same library as me, Ashmoor Public Library. As I probe my memory for more information about them, I skid off the thought, my mind slips away from remembering like it’s a shiny surface.

One day she was there and the next she had never been there at all. Gone. Because she had never really existed, not if none of us could remember her.

I can just about get her name. Sam? Sam… Sam something. Alan. Arnolds. That was it. Sam Arnolds. She would have been pretty, had she ever existed in the first place.

I’ve reached the point where I’ve said all I have to say on a topic, and my mind inevitably wanders. As usual, it tries to go to the place which is most dangerous for it. Oh, brain, why are you so eager to commit suicide?

I’m doing it. I’m surviving, living out my life as best as I can, crippled as I am with the weight of not remembering. They say that if you survive the Memory Game for two decades then He will let you go free. I doubt it very much.