* * * *
The elevator pulled Alex into the base of his dwelling and he walked up a spiral staircase to the second floor. A train whizzed just above his ceiling, streaking diagonally along its curvy transport tube. Alex thought, Lenny, polarize the shell by twenty percent.
Polarization enabled, twenty percent, Lenny telepathed into Alex’s head.
The forest green wall faded into translucence, revealing trains shooting through their intertwined transparent tubes. If he was going to hear them, he might as well see them also.
Alex enjoyed his Egg at first before three of the seven noise cancellation speakers broke, ushering in the whiz of the trains. Eggs were expensive and remote but the view and stylish interior seemed perfect for a writer.
He had recently learned the futility of trying to bring a girl back after a night of drinking and dancing at Club Discothèque. It was a laborious walk and climb around the tubes to the entrance of his egg. “Where are you taking me?” Marlene, with the nice backside had said.
“To my Egg.”
“Your what? There’s no dwelling up here. Something’s not right.” She turned and walked away.
“Hey,” Alex staggered, catching himself, “Haven’t you heard of Eggs. They’re spacious. They’re quiet. Be smart, go Egg! Live like royalty in your vast...”
He’d need a girl to trust him before he could get one to come back. He’d need a girlfriend. First trust, then sex. He might need to be famous too; he wasn’t sure what it would take.
Alex set the plastic bag on his kitchenette counter, looking at it before drawing out Fast Amnesia. The plastic box worked in conjunction with his quarter. This was what he needed. He’d be famous. The feeling of purpose had always welled from the center of his being; it was fate.
Alex didn’t think he could trust the sellers at the market. They had tried to confuse him and he apologized to customers for taking so long.
It might be better, however, to wait until it could be registered. It needed NIA approval. The whole process could take years. He held it in his hands and looked at the lightning bolt red lettering of ‘Fast Amnesia.’
Lenny, bring me the bubble, AA6, Alex thought.
Dispatched, Lenny telepathed.
Alex looked around. “Bubble AA6.” He waited. “BUBBLE AA6!” A white sphere flew toward him, hovering above and out of his reach. The sphere vibrated and gyrated as he eyed it. It darted toward and back. “Hey!”
It bounced and rattled.
“Return.” Alex glared, walking backward. He turned and it flew toward him as he ran around a corner into his kitchenette. “Return!” He looked and cursed, “DAMNIT!” The sphere bounced off his head as he arched his back, catching himself on the countertop before it ricocheted off a cabinet to the floor. He rubbed his head and winced at it resting quietly before separating its hemispheres and retrieving the devices inside.
Fast Corp. had made safe products in the past. He had used these two recently with no side effects. They looked identical to Fast Amnesia, only differing in the red lightning lettering of ‘Fast Anesthetics’ and ‘Fast Singer’s Voice.’
Alex wrote on a Post-It note:
Alex,
Recognize your own handwriting, Stupid. You wrote this novella, Surprise Ending, then used Fast Amnesia to forget you wrote it. It’s the only way to know if you’re any good. Read it, edit it, now!
Alex pulled the Post-It from the pad and grabbed Fast Amnesia, walking to the yolk room. His feet sunk as they crossed onto the stretchy, indigo shag. He paced to a random spot, falling back into an oversized chair-shaped mound forming from the shag. His feet rose to rest on a growing coffee table as the indigo fibers retracted beneath the darkening surface.
Alex, Lenny telepathed, want a neck massage?
Lenny, no thanks. Bring me the bubble, Surprise Ending. Alex raised his forearm across his forehead but the sphere appeared quietly, this time.
He removed the seventy-four-page manuscript and stuck the Post-It to the title page.
Lenny, perform a scan. Find start date and time of the computer file, Surprise Ending.
Alex folded the title page into a triangle, bringing the Post-It into prominent view. He positioned the manuscript on the table, close to him, then held Fast Amnesia behind his head. Removing the protective casing from a corner revealed a speaker and a microphone. “Fast Amnesia, are you paying attention?”
It buzzed in his hand, “Fast Amnesia here, with OODLES of fantastic possibilities for your explore—new capabilities surely in store. The first thing you’ll want to do is—”
“Shut-up,” Alex said.
“OK boss.”
“Fast Amnesia set reference to current year. Delete temporary, May 10th, 3:30 AM through May 21st, 4:15 PM.”
“You said, delete—”
“Do it,” Alex demanded. Fast Amnesia buzzed and he felt as if he was sweating inside of a thick blanket and he counted the throbbing in his brain before he momentarily misplaced his understanding of the concept of numbers and multiplication while still realizing the purpose of the table and the paper.
He leaned forward, setting Fast Amnesia in his lap. It seemed like it had worked. He hadn’t expected the throbbing. It must have worked. He couldn’t sit there all day. He needed to start writing something. Something longer. Maybe a novella. Something blatantly good that no editor could question. Something with a surprise ending! Alex leaned toward the Post-It and the triangle-shaped paper.
He’d never written fiction that long. He glanced over some paragraphs. It tried to be exciting but it was cliché, forced. It lacked his insight, his smoothness. But the note was in his handwriting. He had purchased Fast Amnesia today. Fast Amnesia helped people forget things. He didn’t remember writing this novella. But the note was in his handwriting. He must have written it.
Alex set the manuscript on the table and stood.
Outside the translucent wall, a train snaked through its twisting tube.
He paced. Something wasn’t right. He was a great writer. He was going to be rich and famous and have a dwelling on the lower edge of the pyramid so he could see the swirling Pacific and the mainland. He was going to vacation at California Island and attend expeditions to the Smog Ruins.
The familiarity of the story bothered him. At the end, the hero said, “Here’s seeing your face one last time, Carry.” Who did this guy think he was—some Twentieth Century movie hero? Alex walked to the table, snatched the manuscript and turned to page seventy-two.
It wasn’t exactly the same. However, main elements corresponded: the wartime setting, the idea of destiny, two men in love with the same woman and the woman leaving the hero on an airplane.
He stormed to a bronze statue of a couple embracing, pulling it from its float zone and weighing it in his hand. Too heavy. He darted to a pair of athletic shoes on the shag and flung a shoe, “IT’S CASABLANCA!” The shoe bounced off the translucent-green wall.
Disabled, Noise Cancellation Unit Seven, Lenny telepathed.
“What?” The whizzing of trains increased. “How?”
He grabbed his manuscript off the table, tearing it into pieces, cramming it down the garbage disposal. He rushed to snatch-up Fast Amnesia. He could erase the memory of ever writing it.
“Fast Amnesia, delete permanent, May 10th, 3:30 AM through present.”
“Uh... boss, did you say—”
“Yes.”
“Delete permanent, eleven full days?”
“Yes, do it.”
“OK, boss. Fast Amnesia here... oodles...”—it buzzed in monotones, overlaid with static: “Error 305... Please return to OEM indicated by...”
Alex felt cold. Something within his skull tugged his eyes inward, attacking the small things like Uncle Stanley’s gruff voice, the blistering sunburn, blue cake frosting and kissing those feminine lips—the Pacific breeze, the rapture of his first time. Years of experience. Memories slipped as he shivered.
“Input registry code
to reset,” Fast Amnesia requested of him.
His shoulders and knees shook as his stomach muscles cramped and he dropped to his knees.
“Input registry code.”
Fast Amnesia fell from his hand with the fire burning and ricocheting inside his skull. He rubbed his hands across his sweaty forehead as the intruder reached deeper, making his surroundings confusing, foreign. Alex felt younger—like some punk thirteen-year-old kid. “Fast Amnesia... STOP!” He collapsed.