The Future Is Another Room

So you might have heard about that cognitive trick, where if you walk into another room, or outside – really, through any sort of a doorway – you completely forget what you were just thinking.

I only read about it about ten minutes ago, but it sounds oddly familiar, so I’m sure I knew it at some point in the past, and then lost it.

Anyway, so: I have something similar, except when I walk through a door, I forget everything. Not just what I was doing, or where I am, but everything. Who I am. Who you are. Why everything I could need to live my life is crammed into this one room.

I’ve had to rely on the people who visit and observe me to explain my situation. Thankfully, I still remember how to read, and write, and speak, and listen. I can work a can-opener. I know to keep the bucket I use as a toilet as far from my food as possible, and they help me dispose of it when it gets too disgusting.

I also remember that using a bucket as a toilet is disgusting.

They don’t know when this started, and so neither do I. We’re all pretty sure I had a normal life, for the longest time. I’m told my mother used to live in this house with me, years ago, when apparently we used the whole of it, but she died in 2004. Which I’m told is a really long time ago.

I don’t know why they come and help me. I’ve read about this country on the internet, and how it’s having less and less compassion and support for people who are… sick… like me. So I don’t know how they can afford to bring me food and help me out and talk to me.

Maybe they get something out of it that I just can’t work out. Because I don’t remember something significant, or was never that smart to begin with.

It’s been about five weeks since this… thing…  last happened to me. I think. Thirty three days that I can account for, anyway. I’m running a tally on my arm. And I can piece some stuff together of previous periods of continuous memory – the visitors help me, and I’ve left myself notes, although they’re not very thorough.

I guess I haven’t really got enough experience at any point to know what’s important enough to note down.

One thing I do know is that five weeks in this one space is making me edgy, quite aside from my condition.

It’s making me wonder whether I even have a condition.

Think about it… I only have their word for it that this isn’t perfectly normal. Or that they haven’t just… wiped my mind. Just the once. Before sticking me in here. To mess with me.

I get the internet in here. I have watched a lot of films, and a lot of TV. I’ve heard weirder about things that are weirder than some shady organisation seeing if they could trick a guy into… being me. Right now.

I mean, what is it stopping me going through that door? It’s not like when you burn yourself, so you know not to do it again. I’ve never experienced this memory loss. I’ve never seen it happen.

I’ve been thinking for a few days now that it might all be bullshit. I’ve been walking over to the door out to the corridor, and opening it, leaving it open, looking out there. Often. Never walking through.

But I’m going to do it. Now. I’m going to do it now.

Right, I’m doing it. I’m going through.

 

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Nicolas Papaconstantinou
Nicolas Papaconstantinou is an enthusiastic amateur creative type, and the chap behind Elephant Words. Be nice to him. He growed up kinda wrong.

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