"Welcome to... it looks like it's fading. Population: 2,084. | wonder if | 
count as enough of a person to add onto that, Smith." 


Smith turned back to look at his new companions for affirmation. 
The band had slunk back the way they came, to the visible horizon. 
He sighed, continuing into the city. Though the streetlights were on, 
the roads were empty. Smith took out the fully-recorded tape and 
put it in his pocket, replacing it with yet another. He pressed record 
before deciding to continue on, needing to find any indication of 
where he was. 


Navigating the town wasn't terribly difficult. It was mostly comprised 
of residences, and everything was close enough that walking didn't 
take a long time. Trouble came with Smith's legs as he had walked 

almost non-stop for the past five hours. There was little time to rest, 
though the urge was becoming increasingly tempting. Despite this, 

there was not a single resting area to be found. 


On the verge of collapsing, Smith spotted a bench nearby. He 
sighed with relief, making his way up the road towards it. Just after 
starting his detour to the bench, his vision quickly grew brighter. The 
lights around him were blinding, and he had no idea how to react. 
He felt frozen in place. It brought back — 


That's when the truck horn blared. 


"Get outta my way, ya goddamn stray!" 


The truck swerved around Smith as his body reacted out of instinct 
and stumbled to the ground by the side of the road. Despite the 
near-death experience and sudden transition from feet to floor, the 
sweet relief of resting after all the walking prevented Smith from fully 
processing the situation. All that left his mouth were groans of pain 
as he blankly stared at the truck, now pulling in reverse to his side. 


"Shit, are you OK? Jesus, ya don't seem so well. Come on, let's take 
ya to the hospital." 


He could feel the tape recorder in his hand, and feel himself being 
picked up from the ground, but couldn't process it, nor process being 
slung over the man's shoulder. 


It wasn't until until he was slapped in the face that he could 
recognize his new, current location; in a truck starting down the road 
next to a man2. The man glanced over at him occasionally with a 
look of worry. 


"At least ya seem responsive now. Don'cha worry, I'mma take ya to 
the hospital. What's yer name?" 


"Oh, it's uh... it's..." His name. He couldn't remember his name now. 
He felt on the verge of a panic attack, slowly forgetting himself. This 
couldn't happen already. He searched for the tape recorder, trying to 
turn it on quickly, he still had to have it with him, he had to 
remember his name, he couldn't afford to forget already, not when 
he was already trying to find — 


The button clicked. 


"— is Smith. I've been walking around for ages, trying to find a 
hospital, or some kind of government office. | can find it, Smith. 
Pulse is 110, not too bad. It's —" 


Smith stopped the tape recorder. Smith regained a grasp on it. 
Smith. Smith. Mr. Smith. Smith could keep remembering. 


"Smith, eh? Pleasure to make yer acquaintance, Mr. Smith." 


"Same to you. | know this sounds weird, but can you keep calling 


me Smith at the end of your sentences? I... have a thing." 


"Kinda weird, but if it helps ya then sure, Smith. Name's Jude. Sorry 
for runnin’ ya over back there. Ya looked like a stray for a second. 
Musta been the night that doesn't make ya look all that human." 
Smith could feel his heart skip a beat at the sound of that. 


"Y... Yeah. | guess. Listen, can you drop me off at the next town? 
I'm looking for something and it's kind of urgent." 


Jude gave Smith an odd look and turned back to the road. "You 
lookin' to pass out again, Smith? Especially with whatever yer 
condition is, you can't go around walkin’ all willy-nilly. Whatcha 
lookin’ for anyway?" 


Smith thought on what to tell Jude, continuing to mutter his name. 
Smith. Smith. Smith.3 There wasn't much Smith could say that didn't 
make Smith seem crazier than he already appeared. Smith looked 
outside, trying to focus on the world around him. The streets 
seemed much emptier than he had remembered. It was preferable. 
After some thought, Smith faced Jude. 


"Trying to find my wife and children." 


"Huh, that so?" Jude turned to face Smith, his eyes developing that 
glaze Smith recognized easily. Even so, he smiled at Smith. "What's 
the wife's name?" 


"Eve. That's what | remember, anyway." 


"Well, good luck with that. | know how it feels to long after yer 
family." Jude transferred a cigarette from his shirt pocket to his 
mouth, grabbing a lighter and lighting the cigarette in one fluid 
motion. He turned down his window to let the smoke out, quickly 
flashing a grin to Smith. 


"Sure, why not. I'll drop ya off once we get into town, but get 
someone to look after ya. Don't want the wife to yell at'cha for lookin 
like shit. Ya probably know that, but it's a rough feelin’. | sure do!" 
Jude chuckled, looking bemused by his own statement. 


Smith didn't respond, turning back to look outside. It was nice to 


can be seen. 

13:17 - The man holds up a partly-crumpled 
piece of paper to SCP-873’. One message has 
been scrawled out illegibly, and beneath that is 
one sentence reading: 


"| Know what you will do now." 


13:18 - The man takes the message and un- 
writes it with a quill pen drawn from a holder 
next to SCP-873’. He then violently scratches 
out the prior message, revealing it. With 
shaking hands, he unsmoothes the paper, 
leaving it a crumpled ball, and carefully places 
it on the floor next to the open door to the 
office. 

13:19 — The man returns to the desk, closes 
the strongbox, and walks backwards out of the 
room with it, stepping over the corpse in the 
doorway. 

13:25 - The man runs backwards into the 
room, almost tripping on the corpse. He is 
holding a cane that shows signs of blood and 
hair stuck to it. He comes to an abrupt halt in 
the doorway and stares down at the dead 
woman for approximately six minutes. 

13:31 - The man raises his cane, and the 
woman's corpse leaps up to meet it. The cane 
rebounds off her head and shoulders three 
times before she’s left standing, facing the 
man as he lowers the cane to his side with a 
visibly trembling hand. 

13:32 - The man and woman engage in an 
animated discussion, during which the 
crumpled paper jumps up from the ground into 
the man’s left hand, where he uncrumples it 
during the discussion. As the conversation 
ends, the man appears less anxious and more 
relaxed. 

13:37 - The man shuts the door on the woman 


have company, at least, however short it'd remain. 


It was thirty-three minutes after Jude spoke and fifteen seconds after 
seeing the very edge of a new town down that road that Smith heard 
a car fast approaching. The sound stuck out the most; it was too 
close to have been on the other side of the highway, and though 
Smith sat comfortably in the truck, the vision getting brighter tipped 
him off at what was happening again. 


Smith could see the people in the car, unaware of what was 
happening. There was a man, a woman, children in the backseat. 
They had all looked familiar, someone he could recall in his 
memories, but he couldn't quite place it. For a brief moment, he 
could have sworn it was — 


"Can't this dumbass see me? The Hell's his —" 


By the time Smith recognized what was going to follow, the world 
had muted itself. Every second slowed down to an hour. He 
clenched his teeth, gripping his hands to the steering wheel recorder 
as the truck swerved, and his body thrashed against the seatbelt4, 
and the truck tipped on its side, 


and 


He woke up on pavement, staring into the sky. The stars were 
beautiful, and inviting. A thought fluttered through his mind for a brief 
second. 


| wish | could take a journey up there and discover them. 


It wasn't until the sound of a car passing by inches from his face that 
he realized where he was and what had happened. He stood up 
quickly, the pain searing through his legs. It didn't matter though. He 
was searching for his tape recorder, not being able to find it. Surely 


he must have protected it, it must have been there. But there was no 
tape recorder, there were no tapes. 


His stomach dropped. 


"God, no, no no no... Okay. Alright. This is not a big deal, | can 
remember my name. It's... shit, what is it? Come on, why can't | 
remember my own name already? It's..." 


He turned around, looking at a man climbing out of the wreckage of 
a truck. The lights in his head turned on again. 


"Smith! Right, right. Okay. | just need to remember that. Smith... | 
can keep remembering this, | know | can. I'll press on. This town has 
something, I'm sure. Pulse... 130. Deep breaths, S... Smith." 


Smith trudged into the town, consciously making efforts to move one 
leg after another. A wave of panic started to creep over him again, 
so he looked up at the town ahead. The streets seemed more active 
during the night, even though no one had taken any efforts to walk 
over to the scene of the crash. He had known what that meant, and 
turned back to look at the crash. 


The trucker made no effort to look for Smith, nor did anyone make 
an effort to help him. 


Despite Smith's reaffirmation to himself, no one on the streets 
regarded him for more than a curious second. Any glances met 
would show confusion or worry before looking away, people 
continuing on like normal. He expected this, though it didn't make 
the panic of inevitability abate. The most consolation he got from this 
was no one making a scene or being frightened from his presence. 


"Hospital... just need to find a hospital, Smith..." 


The town was harder to navigate than the previous one, resembling 
more of an urban city than the rural setting Smith last passed 
through. Many buildings looked the same to him, and streets 
seemed to converge back on themselves. With no map and no solid 
point of reference, he found himself lost, wandering randomly. His 


legs continued to burn, repeatedly requiring him to stop and rest. 


A giant hospital sign greeted Smith as he turned a random corner. 
Relief washed over him, as he dragged himself into the hospital. The 
pain lessened now, and he could feel it just within his grasp. The 
end of his journey, a resolution to what he was seeking. Here, he'd 
get some kind of a break. 


The automatic doors opened for him and he stepped inside the 
hospital's ER, looking for someone to speak to. He found a desk that 
wasn't busy and headed over there, speaking to the lady behind the 
desk. 


"Hello? | need help really urgently." The woman didn't look up. 
"Please! | need help! My name is... is... it's Smith, | think! Please, 
can you see me? Can you still understand me? Am | present with 
you? I'm Smith. | need your help. Please..." He banged on the glass 
repeatedly, shouting "Smith" over and over. Eventually, the woman® 
looked up, her eyes looking past him. 


"Yes? Can | help you, mister?" Her lips pursed, and she seemed to 
focus in on him a bit more, as if analyzing the situation. 


"Please, | need help. | need to know if my wife is here, or if you 
know where my wife and children are. Their last names are Smith." 


"Smith... okay. Can you give me their first names, so | can look 
them up?" 


"Right. It's... it's, um... Um..." 

"Sir? Are you alright? You don't seem well." His breathing became 
labored, and his body shook. 

"Sir? Who... who are you? I'm going to call security." 


He bolted outside, not bothering to look back at the woman who had 
picked up the phone. The adrenaline surged through him as he 


dashed through the people milling about, out of the doors, onto the 
sidewalk just off of the hospital grounds. He stopped, panting and 
sweating heavily. It was too much to take in. He stared up at the sky 
for longer than he could parse, searching for those stars that gave 
him comfort a short while ago. They had faded. 


"I can't be gone now... do | have to lose it now? | was so close." No 
one replied, nor did anyone spare him a glance. 


"What's going to happen now? Where do | go from here?" He tried 
to recall the name of someone he knew before, someone close. It 
couldn't be recalled. There wasn't much concern over it fading, 
though. Now it felt natural. 


He tried to bring up a response to himself, and found the words 
stuck in his throat. There was nothing left to say, nothing more that 
he could reconcile himself with. 


Footnotes 

1. Red hair against his balding grey, dark skin to match his, taller 
than him by half a foot at 6'4, eyes a dull red, which complimented 
his — 

2. Around six feet. Caucasian to his... well, he wasn't Caucasian, 
right? Thin compared to... hmm. He didn't feel overweight, but not 
too thin, so — 

3. Smith Smith Smith Smith Smith SmithSmithSm— 

4. again he felt like he was flying and it felt so serene and peaceful 
and he finally felt positivity flow through himself and evenfree 

5. Blonde. Five feet. Tired. 


| Forgot To Remember To Forget 


They were stringing up gold garland all over the house. Mistletoe 
adorned every doorway while elves stared down mischievously from 
their various shelves. The entire dormitory looked like a collision at 
the intersection of holiday kitsch and cheer. 


Precariously perching on a wicker stool, she placed a Foundation 
Star atop their over-sized tree. As the wooden support collapsed 
beneath her, she felt a moment of free fall before strong arms 
stopped the fall. Smiling wildly, she threw her arms into his. 


"Merry Christmas!" 


The sterile interview room looks the same as it has every other day 
of the year, save for a single scraggly wreath clinging to life on the 
inside of the door. Adileh Khayyam watched as two muscle-bound 
goons in the Foundation's honorable armed forces escorted a 
nervous young woman towards her station. 


As she sat down, Adileh made note of her posture. Every ounce of 
her desperately wanted to escape. Muscles tensed and pulsated 
underneath skin with hair standing on end. The cheap aluminum 
table rattled from her trembling as she leaned into it. 


Adileh let her lips split apart with practiced precision. It was her 
second most practiced smile, after the one she used for people she 
knew were going to die. "It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you. | know 
you must be very confused." 


For a few moments, the woman said nothing. She only stared at her 
lap, where hands might lie. Leaning forward, Adileh grabbed her 
hand with a practiced motion. "Have they explained to you what 
happened?" 


"They said... that I... they said..." shaking her head, she glanced 


into Adileh's eyes before darting back to her lap. "Amnestics. | 
requested amnestic treatment." 


"That's right." Adileh scribbled gibberish on her clipboard. "Now, this 
is important. Do you remember anything about it? Anything at all?" 


Pausing, the woman pursed her lips and stared intently at the empty 
space on the wall. 


Access card that didn't belong. Memetics. Why had he been in 
memetics? 


A man by the name of Vang, he said, who had some interesting 
ideas and liked talking to him. That was all. Just that and nothing 
more. 


They got each other stockings that year. She gave him a razor, and 
the newest Call of Duty. He gave her a bleached crocodile skull that 
he'd painted for her. 


For awhile, that was enough. 


A pen tapping on a clipboard jolted the young woman back to reality. 


Slowly shaking her head, the woman grabbed at her temples. "No. 
Nothing. Not even... paperwork or procedure. How deep..." 


"Don't worry about that. Your cognitive functions have not been 
affected. This is your first amnestic treatment, so-" 


"How do you know?" 


Closing her eyes, Adileh looked up from her papers and nudged her 
head to shuffle hair aside. "I'm your doctor. It's my job to know."