Amnesia

Every now and again, I get flashbacks. Flashbacks of a time that only I and my peers can seem to remember. They come in images or blurry fragments of memories, but they're there. I'm writing this as I look at my mother and father in the kitchen. They care so much about me, but they're so oblivious, so... complacent. I love and care about them, but often their presence brings little more than sadness when I think of what horrors befell upon them.
From a collection of documents and internet forum threads, I read the pieced-together story of what now is known as the great amnesia. You may believe my story or not, but I know what happened.
In March of 1990, 911 centers across the country began flooding with callers who reported cases of memory loss. According to reports, the spouses of those calling would forget every detail of their personal life. The first case occurred in Ackley, Iowa. From there, it spread like a wildfire. Nationwide, adults of all ages had their minds completely cleared of all personal information. The disease affected those of all sizes, genders, and ethnicities, but one thing was clear: anyone under the age of 18 was completely immune. Progressively, things got worse. Witnesses claimed that the adults would wander about in the streets, hopelessly searching for a life that was no longer theirs. Those who held jobs forgot how to do them and abandoned their stations. The sick died, children went hungry, and cities went dark.
This event had attracted global attention. After much debate, the U.N. passed the Quarantine Act of 1994. Walls were put up around America's borders to prevent the infection from spreading. It was then that teenagers within the United States came to a decision: either take the country back, or succumb to the amnesia when they came of age.
Out of both desperation and determination, young adults began to band together and restore society. Putting their heads together, they managed to restore power and take care of the young. Nascent scientists, doctors, and people of all professions found their niche in this time of crisis.  As the human condition began to notably improve, the teens grew more militant. They began to arm themselves and execute those who turned of age and fell to the condition. Adults were kept alive in case life reverted to a state of relative normalcy, but any teenager who fell to the condition was ruthlessly butchered. By 1999, American society was steadily rising from chaos and destruction to order and creation.
What is widely known as Y2K was actually something called the realization. On January 1st, 2000 at 12:00 a.m., every citizen above the age of 18 in the United States regained their memory. They remembered what to do and how to do it. As fate would have it, though, there was still a huge problem.
The teenagers, who had split into various factions, now had a powerful grip on America's hegemony. Luckily, adults who were capable of taking back power by force had fallen back into their lines of work: military personnel, police officers, private contractors, and so on. They united under a common goal, as did the teenage militias who sought to hold their power. For months, the adults and teenagers fought tirelessly while the young were taken care of by children who were not in the fight. On January 1st, 2001, the teenagers formally surrendered – one year after the realization. Children were returned to parents, and those without were placed into orphanages. None of the teenagers who coordinated or participated in the effort against the adults were tried or punished; they were all simply put into correctional programs to ease them back into society. All of the damage done by the amnesia was reversed, and by July of that year American society was running normally again.
Evidence of the events was quickly covered up by the CIA and other government agencies. Media was imported from Canada to make it appear to future generations as if the 90s went by without any interruption. Whenever I look at my parents - or anyone else not born in that horrendous decade – a chilly reminder plays itself within the walls of my psyche:
Only 90s kids remember the 90s.
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