Name: Raymond Elenwoke
Location: United Kingdom
Summary: A grieving young man tries to erase his memories of his dead fiancee.
WHEN ANGELS FLY
Hey Amara…this will be the last time I talk to you…
At least, I hope so.
It’s been hard, you know. Living without you, that is. I can’t sleep without seeing you in my dreams, can’t eat without tasting your lips on mine. I didn’t realize how much I loved you until now… I had no idea it was possible to miss someone as much as this. All I have are your pictures to remind me of your face, your clothes to remind me of your smell…and the memories.
The memories are the worst.
Remember when we first met? You were trying so hard not to answer questions in that Robotics class, but in the end your nature got the better of you and you just had to spit it out, and the next thing we know, you are sitting there discussing with the lecturer about emerging technologies and the effects of Artificial Intelligence on the innate Knowledge Base of the Human Mind like it was nothing. I remember wondering how such a beautiful girl could know so much. When I came to you, fearing that you would brush me off, you surprised me for the second time that day by being so welcoming. I remember thinking that you must have had some foreign blood somewhere within you; you looked too exotic to be a pure Nigerian, at least for me. It was a no-contest; I fell for you there and then. Who wouldn’t?
They wheel in the gurney, silent; to him they look like funeral directors that have decided upon a change in attire. Their knee-length white coats make them seem…robotic, for some reason.
“Are you ready Mr Chidubem?” one of them asks.
Silently, he nods.
Another presses a button at the top of the gurney and it transforms with a series of whirrs and hums into wheelchair with smaller tires.
He gets up.
Our first date. Or at least that is what I like to call it. For once you’d decided to ditch the books for a while, and you’d dragged me to your favourite spot; beneath the huge mahogany tree that stood sentinel over the river. There we sat down and talked about nothing and everything. And then you removed your glasses, and I really saw your eyes for the first time. I believe that was the day we became a couple officially. I remember thinking that I was lost in you; your eyes seemed to see right through me. I remember tracing my fingers all over your face, eyes closed, knowing you, your face, by touch, just so I could remember how beautiful you felt. I think I cried a little; you were so beautiful it hurt…
“Initiating sequence. Vital signs at optimum level. MEMOIR is active. Selecting task.”
A series of beeps. The helmet is strangely snug on his head. The drugs make it harder to focus on the present.
“Task selected. Memory rewrite sequence activated. Starting in sixty seconds…”
It’s been three years now, my love, and I can’t seem to forget. I see your face everywhere; hear your voice in every whisper of the wind. Lately, I’ve found it increasingly difficult to sleep without your laughter in my ears.
The first night at home after the…after I came home from the hospital, I couldn’t stay in our room. And I didn’t sleep there for the next two months. Most nights I cried myself to sleep on the couch. Other nights I curled up by the door to our room with your favourite afghan covering me. I think that afghan kept me rooted most nights; I fear that without it I would have floated away. There were nights when I felt your arms around me, your lips on my forehead…
On those nights I would wake up crying.
I think it is time I move on, my dear Amara. I don’t think I can survive with your memories. I fear every other woman will compete with your ghost and come up short. Right now, the apartment is being…remodelled. I have your afghan though. I think I’ll keep that with me. Sometimes it gets cold at night…
Ten, nine, eight…
I have to go now, my dearest. Even though I won’t remember you after tonight, I’ll always love you…