Ch.7 Tik.Tik.Tik.

Our memory is a rather strange phenomenon. Sometimes, we remember each detail in crystal clear accuracy. Sometimes, details we needed become lost in our memory. Hyperthymesia is a memory disorder characterized by a superior autobiographical memory. In other words, those who have this disorder can remember every detail of every day of their lives. They can describe the events of any given date, what day of the week that day fell on and they can even describe trivial details such as the weather. There are only four confirmed cases of this disorder.

Sometimes, we choose to forget. Our minds will erase events from our memory just like erasing chalk from a blackboard. These events are so miserable, we want to forget.

Travis had wanted to forget something. Something that was so miserable, he had gone to extremes to forget. And he had succeeded.

Travis had staggered out of The Red Nose Tavern that night. He drank an entire bottle of scotch. He only drank half of the second bottle but he had brought that one home with him. He had spent the next day in bed, sick. The desired result was a memory loss.

While Travis had wanted to forget, his mind wasn't quite ready to let him. And this event tugged threateningly at the back of his mind.

Even two days after his visit to The Red Nose Tavern, Travis' head pounded and throbbed. He stared at the brown paper package on his counter top. He didn't remember putting there. He didn't remember receiving a brown paper package. But, considering his circumstances, he didn't find that unusual. What he did find unusual was the lack of address on this package. It was neither addressed to anyone nor did it say who sent it. It just sat there on his counter top.

After five minutes of staring blankly at a brown paper package, Travis decided to open it. He pulled a knife from the drawer and sliced through the paper and the box underneath. He ripped it open and out fell a watch. A silver pocket watch complete with a chain.

Strange, he thought. Travis never had had a use for a pocket watch.

He put the watch up to his ear. Tik. Tik. Tik. It worked well. With a snap, it opened. But this was not an ordinary pocket watch. This watch was counting time backward. The hands were going around the watch face counterclockwise.

Strange, he thought again. Could it be broken?

He turned the watch over in his hands. Engraved on the back, in simple print, was a name. One name. Our memory truly is a strange phenomenon. Even though we choose to forget something, if it's really important, we remember it anyway. And at some point, something will bring back our memory. Sometimes our mind is ready to deal with this miserable memory. And other times our mind is not.

Travis' memory came flooding back to him as he stared at the name on the back of the watch. A name he had wanted to forget. For engraved in the silver pocket watch, in simple print, was the name Quinn.

A knock interrupted his thoughts. He ignored it. The knock came again shortly thereafter. This time a little more persistent. He ignored it. This time, the person banged loudly and insistently. Travis covered his ringing ears and stumbled to the door. He flung it open angrily. He got ready to turn them away, but stopped.

"Quinn?"

The girl with auburn hair looked up at him, puzzled...

Author's Note: The memory disorder I described at the beginning is a very real disorder and everything I said about is fact.

Ch.6 Travis and Tavern. Tavern and Travis.

Light the match and see the vision in red.

Two weeks after this strange message was uttered, these words scrolled across every television in the world. They were heard over every radio. At first, the world only wondered at their meaning. Rumors were spread as to the source of this strange message. But soon wars started. Allied countries arrogantly turned against each other. The world became a boiling pot. And just as quickly, the worlds ended. Each country humbly signed treaties proclaiming peace. The world was almost destroyed because of these words.

There were a few who understood what these words truly meant. They got the message within. But these few did not know what to do with such a message and they began to blindly search for answers.

Two years later, the boiling pot of politics simmered down. But it was not over. Those words still scrolled across every television and blared over every radio. But for most people, those words had been forgotten.

The Red Nose Tavern was nestled into an alleyway in heart of the city. No one knows the name of that city and if you went to visit this tavern today, you would find it like everything else in that city: in ruins.

Everything had it's own mirror image next to it. On the far wall of the tavern was a faded painting of a round man holding up a mug of beer. But it wasn't the size of the beer or the man's fat belly that captured people's attention. It was his bulbous red nose. This man, his name has also been forgotten, built this tavern. And there were two mirror paintings of him as well. The point is, if you didn't have a headache, if your vision wasn't blurry when you walked into the tavern, it would be when you staggered out.

Travis sat at the bar. He was not a man to nurse his drink and this night was no exception. There we find him, at the bar, with an almost empty bottle of scotch.

The bartender seemed pleased with his customer. He stroked his mustache happily and placed a second bottle of scotch next to Travis.

"'Ere ya are, sir. I spect you'll drink this one quick like too." His accent was thick but untracable.

Travis turned to the woman next to him. She had given him the news that now possessed him to drink. He guzzled the rest of the scotch and slurred:

"Two years. It's been two years and now you choose to tell me."

She tried to smile reassuringly but only a drunk would miss the menace behind that smile. Even the bartender grimaced.

"Two years ago, we did not know she had a brother." She paused trying to regain her composure. "Believe me, if we had known, we would've spoken with you a lot sooner. So...her last words mean nothing to you?"

Travis knew of what words she was speaking of. But, he like everyone else, had only seen them scroll across his television and heard them over the radio. He never knew they were Quinn's, his sister's, last words.

Travis' face hardened as his next words came in a muttered slur, "I'm opening my second bottle of scotch now. You should leave before I finish it."

He tilted the bottle back and took a large swig.

"Here's my card. When you're sober, call me."

She placed a white card in his front pocket and brushed her hair away from her face. With that, she turned and left.

The bartender shuddered. He was glad she was gone. Turning to Travis he said,

"A woman like that, with that much menace, ain't welcome in mine bar."

Vaguely, he wondered how she had received that scar on her cheek...

A tent, a fire and...what?! No Marshmallows?

I have a confession to make. Well, to be exact, I have two confessions (this is a bad start to the day). Number 1: I wrote out the next installment for my little story I'm writing but...I left it at my apartment. I thus will not see it until Tuesday when I return home. I will try to type out what I wrote on Wed. Number 2: Yes. I'm afraid it's true!! No one brought any marshmallows! 

Here we are (there were about 14 or so) and I didn't see a single marshmallow! I'm just as guilty as the rest. I went shopping for food and do you think I grabbed s'more stuff? Nah! I did bring the cheez-its though. But not s'more stuff. I'm appalled for myself! I can't imagine what my readers are thinking (please comment on this. S'mores around a campfire is essential to life). 

Besides the lack of essential marshmallows and the abundance of rain on Saturday, the weekend went well. Baxter state park is a beautiful place to go camping and with Mount Katahdin nearby, there is lots to do outside. 

I would like to express my concern though. I'm sure that most of you out there will not share the same concern. You may even think "I would love to go camping there". I'm concerned with the future of camping. Here we are in the middle of...well...almost nowhere, camping, enjoying good times with good friends beneath the unhindered sky (unhindered by Portland's lights) when I learn something.

Someone has had the audacity to put showers on the campground!! Showers!! Can you  believe this?? I was shocked. Camping, which generally has no showers, was my only excuse not to worry about my hair being greasy. I'm camping! Now, everyone could look at  me and say, "Wow, Kim, your hair is a mess." And I can't even respond, "Well, I'm camping. I don't really have access to showers." I couldn't say that. I had access to a shower! What in heaven's name was I supposed to do then??!!! Does anyone else here see my dilemma? 

Ch.5 The Mistress and A Message

If you have ever found yourself a guest in a strangers house, perhaps a long lost uncle recently found or a new friend, then I'm sure you can understand the feeling of waking up the next morning and not knowing where you are. It's that momentary panic of staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. It's that heart stopping sensation that you don't know how you got there. It's that "maybe I'm still dreaming" so you pinch yourself feeling.

"Maybe I'm still dreaming." Quinn pinched herself.

She found herself very much awake. Quinn stared at the unfamiliar ceiling and didn't know where she was. Her heart nearly stopped when she couldn't remember how she got there. There was a gentle hum that seemed to permeate the air. The bed she was sitting in seemed to rock gently, swaying back and forth. But it was the stranger that leaned over her bed that frightened her the most.

"Don't talk." She was a nurse according to her dress. "You're body is in shock. We must get you to the agency immediately."

"How did I...get...here?" Her breath came in gasps.

With one jerky motion the nurse cocked her head to the side and placed her cold hand into Quinn's. It was an android. Quinn sighed. Her nurse was an android but Quinn still had no idea where she was.

"Our scanners found you. You are currently on board the AMV Wetlands. Please remain still. Your condition remains critical."

But Quinn would not remain still. She did not want to be on board the AMV Wetlands. The matchbox was now gone. Wedge (was that his name? Quinn wasn't sure she could remember correctly) had pried it from her fingers. She attempted to sit up.

I cannot describe to you the difficulty; I cannot express the pain in her abdomen and I cannot put into words the dizziness and nausea and the sudden vertigo that Quinn experienced. I wasn't there. But I can tell you that Quinn felt all of that and yet she did not lay back down. She did not yelp or cry out. She forced herself to stand.

Her body shook all over and she stood up on shaky, weak legs. The nurse rushed to her side and attempted to lay her back onto the bed. But Quinn refused.

"Bring me to the mistress. I must speak to the mistress. There is a message the world must hear."

She knew what she had to do and slowly, feebly she began to give the nurse specific instructions. These instructions, sadly lost in the shifting time, were Quinn's last words. But her message will last forever.

Light the match and see the vision in red...