Writer Games: Amnesia

Finals - Tabula Rasa - Solar Dedisco

Solar Dedisco had always hated decisions.

The idea of making the wrong choice continually haunted him, always seeming to lead to mistakes or situations he could not escape from. Luck always seemed to play a factor, guiding him to the correct answer through sheer chance and coincidence. That was the only way he could have survived; he had no skills and no experience, but he had luck.

The chance of making all the correct decisions, the ones that had lead him to victory, seemed almost too minuscule to be true. Either way, someone had been looking over him and now he was sitting, alive, in a bright white room awaiting whatever came next. He had escaped with scarcely an injury, the only pain a dull ache in his wrist from when he had fallen during the final fight. However, he was stained in the drying, crimson blood of the other tributes who had not quite made it out of the arena. They had come so close, and now Solar felt guilty whenever he thought of them.

He almost began to wish he could forget them.

After the dark, dying corridors of the hospital arena, Solar finally felt safe in the room of an actual medical centre. The footsteps he could hear through the ajar door belonged to people who would try and keep him alive rather than tributes that would not hesitate to kill him. There was no blood splattered on the pure white walls. The familiar metallic taste had been replaced by the acidic tinge of cleanliness. He even had all of his memories, the thoughts of his brother comforting him as he knew he would see him very soon. Now, the threat of death no longer loomed over him.

Eventually, after leaving Solar alone to the torture of his own mind for long enough, a doctor pushed through the door and approached the boy as he sat, trembling, on his chair. Solar was able to sit up straight, not yet. He preferred to retreat into himself, drawing his knees up to his chest and hiding behind the fabric he was clothed in.

"May I offer you my most sincere congratulations, Solar," began the doctor, quietly. After the blood Solar had seen, the doctor's coat seemed almost too white. "You fought well, joining a very select league of people. It's not often one gets to treat a Victor. How are you doing?"

"Fine," answered Solar, sullenly. He wished the doctor would just leave him alone.

"Physically, we could not ask for anything better," smiled the man, reading from a screen that he took from his pocket. "We've had people from the Hunger Games come through these doors with no limbs, with fatal injuries who are practically on death's door. You escaped with merely a broken wrist and a few deep scratches, something we can easily fix. Mentally, however, I have a feeling you might be a little...fatigued."

Solar did not want to listen, burying his face in his knees. He wanted to find out his own answers. "When can I see my brother again?" he asked, clinging onto the memory as if it was his final lifeline. His brother was the only reason Solar was still able to sit, sheltering in his hospital room.

"Soon enough," reassured the doctor, his smile too sweet for the situation. "We wouldn't want to keep you away from your family any longer than we absolutely have to. I'm just here to ensure you're in a fit mental state to make the transition from the arena back to District Five. The things that happen in the Hunger Games, well, they can certainly change a person. Especially someone like you, Solar, seeing as you have such a remarkable memory. I'm glad you were finally able to recall who your brother is."

Solar remained silent; he did not know what he was supposed to say. It was obvious that he would be happy to be reminded of his brother, someone that he loved and cherished. No matter what the reward, he would not give away the memories he had of his brother to anyone. They meant far too much for him.

"I understand this can all be a bit overwhelming, Solar," continued the doctor, putting away the screen in order to fully examine Solar's face and posture. "After all, death is never a pleasant thing. You see, the Game-Makers this year have decided to be merciful after relinquishing you of your most cherished memories. How much of the Games can you actually remember?"

"All of them," answered Solar, almost immediately. "Everything I saw, I remember."

"And much of it would you be willing to forget?"

The doctor's eyes glinted dangerously, even though the smile remained perched on his face to expose his gleaming white teeth. As if the question had not even been asked, the doctor placed a cool hand against Solar's forehead to check his temperature. Solar shivered at his touch. "Are you okay?" asked the doctor, his voice sounding concerned. "You feel a little warm. I hope you're not coming down with an infection. That really would be a problem."

"What did you mean?" asked Solar, his voice growing hoarser after so long without proper use. "I'd be willing to forget all of it. What do I have to do?"

"It's a tough choice to make so quickly," warned the doctor. "But you certainly sound determined, and I can't say I blame you. It's a simple process once you make the decision. You just have to tell me whether you want to remember or forget. It would only erase memories of the Games, of course."

"Only the Games?"

"How cruel do you think we are, Solar?"

The thought of finally being able to forget, a luxury that Solar was not granted often, was enough to make a rare smile appear on his face. He would be able to return home without remembering anything, exactly as if the Games had not even happened. To him, there did not even seem to be a decision; he made it almost instantly.

"Forget," he announced, not regretting anything as the words left his mouth. The doctor simply raised an eyebrow, exiting the room and bringing back a small paper-cup that held a metallic-smelling liquid that was like a peacock in colour. Only then did a small amount of regret cross Solar's mind.

"All you have to do is drink it," explained the doctor, handing the cup to Solar. "Then you will forget everything you experienced. You do trust us, don't you? A Victor such as you only deserves the very best."

Knowing that he would never do so if he hesitated, Solar took the drink straight from the doctor's hand and poured it into his mouth. It tasted nothing like it had seemed, seeming far too sweet for the acidic tinge it began with. Once the initial shock disappeared, however, the drink was simply like swallowing liquefied sugar. Solar almost enjoyed it, although the initial feeling was not something he would wish to experience.

At first, his mind went hazy. He attempted to recall some of the last moments of the Games only to find, almost in a delightful way, that they were fading as quickly as he could think of them. Soon, the violence and torture of the Games were even less than a distant memory. Solar could only think of his brother, trying to think ahead to how their lives could go on as normal.

He quickly forgot that.

Solar did not even realise that it was happening. Almost as soon as the last of the liquid had trailed down his throat, every single memory that Solar had ever made was gone without him even batting an eye-lid. His mind continued to remain fuzzy, unable to recall anything but one poignant memory: forgetting.

"Solar Dedisco?" called the doctor, the voice almost an echo to the blank slate of a boy. The doctor seemed distant. "Solar? I hope it worked. Are you ready to go and see your brother now?"

Solar's own voice did not seem to come from his own mouth as he spoke, his mind still gradually fading the final few thoughts he had left. "I have a brother?" he asked, easily confused by the whole situation.

"Oh," exclaimed the doctor, although the cruel sneer stayed fixed to his lips. "My mistake."