Why is it, in waiting rooms, you feel too big and too small at the same time? Or is that just me?
A nurse popped her head round the door and called my name. Before I stepped through after her, I saw a little boy walk in with his mother. What's he doing here? Too young! I glanced back over my shoulder. In that second, I searched his eyes. Was there something haunting there?
I handed my questionnaire to the technician and climbed into the huge leather chair. It felt like being a child at the dentist. Is that where the spike of nerves came from? I leaned back, slowly, gingerly.
"First time?" the nurse's eyes crinkled at me above the flimsy mask.
My voice failed, so I nodded, eyeballing the machinery around me.
"Not a thing to worry about!" she chirped, fastening the doodads to my head. "I've been loads of times! Top-tier self-care!"
Just a little mental spring cleaning, that's all. No core memories touched, that's against policy. But that awkward encounter in the office elevator, that can go.
"Right," said the technician, "You've got 'phobia' listed here under 'erasure'. Just to make sure you're aware we can't get rid of that completely. It's like lasering a tattoo. We recommend a repeat treatment."
"OK," I squeaked.
"OK. Ready?"
I had to stay very still. Wouldn't want to accidentally erase memories of Christmas 2010, or my first kiss.
I'd imagined a spike going into my brain and winkling out bits I didn't want, or hosing the mental dustbunnies from nooks and crannies. But nope: they just hooked my brain up to a computer, and tidied things up a bit; organising folders, deleting files, scrubbing others.
"These memories of your Grandmother look quite faded. Do you want them re-touched?"
A sweet painful lump in my throat.
Yes. No. I don't know. Maybe a little?
"We'll leave that for now, you take time to think about it. Maybe next time?"
When I left, did I feel better? Lighter? Happier? I think so.
Did I really, or did they put that thought in my head?
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Word count: (excluding author's note): 366
Submitted on: 22nd May at 23.25
*Quick Author's Note*
First, and most importantly: thank you so much for reading my story! The ha'penny that Vocal will toss in my hat for your eyeballs landing on this humble piece will be well-spent. Might pop over to Vegas for a few days. Buy some platinum breakfast spoons. See if Brian May is selling his Red Special.
If you enjoyed this one, the very best compliment you can give me is to share it, or read another!
A Year of Stories: I'm writing a story every day this year. This one continues my 144 day streak since 1st January!
Please do consider lending your support to the other creators who are also on this madcap "a story every day" adventure. They are putting out excellent content every day!
Leave a comment: Please do leave me a comment. It makes it easier for me to reciprocate the read.
The story behind the story: Just playing with the idea of "brain washing" really! What's to stop it being a huge scam, if people can poke around in there? They can make you think whatever they want. If you take this idea and run with it, please link me to whatever you come up with!
Thank you
Thank you again, most especially if you are one of the wonderful people who has been staunchly reading these daily scribbles since the start of the year. I see you, and appreciate you very much indeed! 😁
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Again, I am walking through the arcade at our childhood vacation spot in South Carolina. It smells like cigarette smoke and the ocean. Wood balls clack in a Skee-Ball’s feeder. I want to play, but I am out of coins. I keep walking. Amber lights flash on the ceiling, followed by the ratcheting sound of a ticket dispenser. I head past the pinball machines to the ice cream counter, where a woman in a blue and white striped uniform dips a soft-serve cone into a bucket of red candy shell. A rainbow of other colors are lined up in what looks like paint cans beneath the glass counter. My dad is sitting at a table nearby. A man in an ice cream shop uniform sits across from him. They are holding hands, but when I get close, they pull their hands back. The man’s name tag says Mark. I ask my dad for some ice cream, but he says we have to leave.
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making space
Since the only thing that might pull us back up is caring, it only makes sense that here, long after I’ve let my anger born of heartbreak and grief misplace, multiply, misdirect itself, let the enormity of my solitude turn into something I don’t know how to dispute with, something thick and heavy and suffocating, let the coldness thrash and fight under my skin, deeper still, in between the arches of my organs; here where the ground is always close and the fall is easy and I surrender to it often, lie without purpose for hours, it only makes sense that it is here, I decide to show up and surrender to the possibilities of the night. Show up to those who I deserted. Drawn to the sense of accomplishment, something I haven’t felt in a while, to memory of finished dish sending its aroma into the world and with it, wrapping the room with a strong sense of sweet nostalgia, I get up and decide to cook. I pick up my phone, type a message that reads “Dinner at mine @ 8PM, don’t bring anything” and before my courage deserts me again, drop it in our friends’ group chat, the way one would do when diffusing a bomb in the movies: one eye closed, snip at the wire, hoping for the best.
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Comments (11)
They once routinely used electroshock "therapy" for seizures which caused mild memory loss to the patients. I think if they kept on tinkering with the brain then your story could one day be quite plausible. And that is soooo scary.
I would pay good money for some of this!
This is why I'm never letting the tech companies put anything inside my brain haha
What a fascinating concept. Wouldn't I want a "cleanup?' Hmmm.
I like this story concept.
Felt myself cringe while reading. I hope it won't come to that ever... Hands off my mind, it's mine and mine only!
Omggg I really want this to be real! I wanna delete to many memories!
Love it LC.
Very, very clever twist at the end. Loved this, LC!
What an idea for a microfiction! Loved it. I'm conflicted about it, of course, which I think is part of the point. How handy it would be, and yet... hmmm. Love that your writing inspires great thought.
Great stuff L.C. Wish this was possible and you could erase the bad memories and enhance the good ones.