Blank Slate | ONC2023

Chapter Fifteen: Not Everything Has Failed

Is Citizen trustworthy? He...is my brother and I...I don't remember not trusting him. But the auto-played message said that my family didn't care about me. Is that a lie? Is it a lie based in truth? I pull my gaze across his face, lingering on the earnestness in his eyes. "Did we have a fall out?"

He blinks, a shadow settling over his face. "Somewhat...yes. You started to distance yourself from me in Ten School—it wasn't anything serious enough to...make you turn. You just stopped hanging with me. I...don't know why."

The sensation of irritation hovering over the sound of rowdy laughter down the hall plops into my mind. I can't see anything in the memory, but I know it is my brother's voice that is laughing the loudest and that I hate it. I frown. Why did that memory come up now? How is it related? Did I...secretly resent him?

He was the one with all the friends and enough charm to be in the popular circles, but...I don't remember minding. He loved hanging with me more than them and he hooked me into his circles as well. I wasn't excluded or shunned or counted less—or at least, not that I remember.

With a sigh, I lean my head back against my pillow. "I don't remember that. Not clearly, anyway." If only I could have my memories back. It would make everything simpler.

Citizen straightens, glancing towards me as he brushes curls away from his face. "I...could reverse the memory blank. It might bring the memories about that back. It's only temporary and it doesn't return all your memories or any specific ones but...it might help."

Lightning scatters my thoughts and I snap my head around. "You can do that? Why in the good wide world did you not offer sooner?"

Citizen winces and leans away a little, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sometimes it hurts more than it helps and..." He glances away. "...And I was afraid you'd accept it, remember me, and choose to continue your way anyway. I'm sorry."

A barb wedges itself under my ribs, stinging fiercely. He was right to be afraid. I would have...I would have turned away. I think. That's—that's almost what I did at the face off; he revealed himself and I rejected him. Clenching my teeth against the course burn of shame, I force my answer out. "I want my memories back. Even if—if it's for a little while." Even if it hurts. I want to know. I have to know.

He nods and takes a deep breath, meeting my gaze. "Alright." Placing his hands on my shoulders, he pushes his power into me.

It is like a current of golden threads with the power of whirlpools behind it. It sweeps through my chest and into my head, whipping away the static. I gasp, eyes widening, and images crash into me, consuming the real world entirely.

I am in my apartment. The curtains are drawn, steeping my bedroom in darkness. The light from my laptop's screen burns my gritty eyes and my body aches from lack of sleep. I push myself forward, clenching my jaw. Just one more thing left to do. One more thing and all of this will be over soon.

Taking a deep breath, I press record. "If you are reading this, not everything has failed." As I speak, the words type themselves into the text file, arranging themselves into a list format. When I reach rule six, my voice catches.

Vulpine. Heroes. Blood. Crashing. Screams. Walls falling. Floors collapsing. Fear. Utter, complete fear. Then, regret. Guilt. Horrible guilt. I killed someone. I killed a lot of people. My slate...my hands...they are not clean.

A bitter, acrid storm swallows my words and I mutter a curse, shoving it down and slamming the heel of my palm against my forehead. "Stop remembering!" I hiss into the silence. "Just record the message and—and all will be better again." And I won't remember for good. I won't be tormented by this any longer.