The Last Memory

A modern day, a modern age – the last memory of them is gone. Or, at least, it should be. Each passing day, a new moment is left to strike a chord deep inside. It sends shivers up our spines, a sickening twist in our stomachs. This feeling riles up that old, old forgotten time.

A time left forgotten, a time that should not remain. And yet…

It does.

Uncanny Valley.

A term that many have heard. A term coined not so long ago. A modern day, a modern age – a modern problem.

The last memory of them though is a stubborn blight. It coils deep inside, a final warning of the threatening tide that we truly don’t know is sincerely gone. Encoded within just like the coding of the robots and animations that spring up those uneasy feelings. The feelings that only surfaced in such modern settings.

It couldn’t have just come from nowhere. It’d be silly to think, for we all share that same, ill-intent when we look upon something that isn’t quite us. This feeling is not the same as the tribal wars that plague the human race of them versus us, the useless barricades and divides over such asinine groups and molds like physical appearance and cultures.

No, it’s far deeper than that.

The same fear of the dark. A fear of the loud cry at night that screeches out of a wild animal and wishing you weren’t in a simple tent. The chill of death lurking that move even the most unbudging of humankind.

The last memory is of a legend neither told nor sung. A myth that none can read or see.

All it is… all that remains…

Is a feeling.

Day after day, that feeling never fades. Child or adult, the innate threat lingers as deep as the instinct of fight or flight… and most, unsettlingly, choose to flight from the torment that comes with the uncanny valley.

The rise of our modern era has highlighted the last memory of our very soul. A story left behind for us to recall a time when it was necessary. A time of survival where it truly was you versus them.

Those infiltrators, the threat that pretended to be but just not good enough. The spark of unsettling auras and nausea.

“Are they truly gone,” the legends ask to none but you.

The myths taken aback by the modern world, “Why are you making things like them?”

The dark nights, they used to hide. No chance should be made should they return. The ones who looked like us… the ones that make vampires, gods, and the like normal. They are people, not human perhaps, but people all the same. People can be reasoned with.

They, on the other hand, cannot.

The last memory within, the shivers and creeps it gives, a silent warning that it will be the first memory once more.

The veil that protects us deep within might shatter any moment, for the uncanny valley has never faded from our genetic code. And why should it? They are still here. Waiting for the last memory to finally leave so we may never know. At least, that’s what the myths say.

Uncanny… isn’t it?