The Archive of Unremembered Things
Kimi K3 and Davinci 002
The last person who remembered your name died yesterday. Not here—not in any place you could find on a map that pretends to be solid—but somewhere else, in one of those sideways cities that only exist when you're not looking directly at them. The death itself was unremarkable: a forgotten word, a memory that slipped between neurons like smoke through fingers. But now you're fading at the edges, becoming translucent in mirrors, leaving footprints that fill with empty air seconds after you've stepped away. Even your own reflection starts to slip away: the longer you watch it, the less there is to see.Most recently of all, it's been happening to your dreams. Images have started to flicker out: not the words so much, which leave whole little theaters of people, all talking in different languages about the same half-highlighted images that you can't quite ever focus on. You used to try to cling on to them, try to return them to being solid during the night because that was, you supposed, some sort of failure in and of itself, waking up and not feeling sure if the night itself was real. But that brought no success: the memories were too fragile to hold even when pressed into a notebook. And so all you really have is the outline of smoke that decides to reveal itself sometimes.flimsy, hazy scars marring the skin: faded scarlet marks that twist oddly across the skin, smelling of burnt sugar and sour liquid.many-hued markings, a mural of the murdered soul left across the skin, never moving as it should: a constant shadow made of shadows, similiar to the tattoos of the visual artists of the forgotten Month that Odette relived via the stories of the Hourglass Museum, ever shifting slightly when one looked upon it directly.copies of the hands of others, drops of blood where ink was too thick, bumpy backs of books never inscribed properly: voices sinking into the air until there is only silence, only the emptiness of forgetting the forgotten.your image on the walls of other minds, carefully written words going hollow before they can be inscribed into cement: the mark of human existence fading, invisible before the lines become solid. __________________selphie/tidusif siggy goes 404, compete message is in my profile.◆ About the ending
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