The rain, it started like a rumor.
I couldn't help but look up when I began to feel the tiny droplets on my head. I take a drag of my cigarette. Inhale, exhale. The black smoke is intoxicating. As I pollute my insides, I pollute my outsides.
It's too late to bring out an umbrella now; I've arrived at my destination: a hole-in-the-wall ramen shop, a minute speck in busy New Tokyo, a tribute to something lost.
"Welcome, please, right this way, miss," the interiors are the same as I remember.
"I'll have one shio ramen, please," the menu seems the same.
"Here's your shio ramen. Enjoy!" the waiting time is similar.
My mind is blank as I eat the ramen--not on purpose, however. My mind is blank because there's nothing to recall; nothing to think about.
And yet I eat this ramen to remember that nothingness.
There used to be something, something behind the ramen shop, something behind this shio ramen. But I can't remember. I try and try and try to recall, but the only memory that accompanies the salty taste of ramen is the memory of having forgotten.
I know there's something more, something important. But I can't remember.
There's nothing more than this shio ramen that I can remember.
"Thank you! Come again!" I pay for my ramen and walk out, back into the cold streets of New Tokyo.
As the neon lights of the ever-busy city dance before my eyes, I can't help but feel empty.
What good is ramen if you don't feel satisfaction?
My stomach is full, but my heart is empty, longing for that memory replaced by nothingness.
VOUS LISEZ
Michael and Mira
Science-FictionImagine a future society where memories are money. For Michael, it's his reality. Memories are money, and he wasn't born rich. Those who don't have enough money have to live off of monthly government rations. If lower-class living is the price of ke...
