When We All Forgot

What if I told you that a war across the entire world would happen; but it wouldn’t be like how the movies and books depicted it? I mean sure, the sickness, famine, droughts, destruction and death all happened...but even with all of that, nothing compared to the great loss that was truly suffered. See after all of that, the bombs came (so far it sounds like any other post-Apocalyptic story, right?); but it’s what happened after the bombs that made it so much worse.

The bombs hit, and everyone in one instant lost all their memories of before. Now I’m not talking about their motor or cognitive skills. Everyone still knew how to talk, read, ride a bike, use the bathroom etc.; but their personal memories, the ones that held sentimental value and individualized each person from the next was gone. It was like waking up from a dream and not knowing who you were or where you were or what you were supposed to be doing. In a way, your brain was “zombified” into this blank state of wandering aimlessly, hungering for some form of explanation or understanding of what was going on, but never being satiated.

Some people were fortunate enough to be with their families or with the ones they loved when the bombs hit; so even though they couldn’t remember who they were with or why they were with them, it didn’t take long for them to formulate reasoning that these people had meant something to them (like parents with their children), and then they went from there. For some, this couldn’t have possibly worked out better. These were the ones who had already lost all that they had, and all they wanted to do was forget. For them this solved all their problems. Unfortunately for the rest of the world, it wasn’t that easy. Most people had been displaced due to the aftermath of everything that happened pre-bombs; so, if the bombs occurred while you were away from your loved ones, you would wake up not even remembering that you had loved ones—and they would not remember you. Parents were separated from their children. Husband and wives alike were separated from their spouses. Even pets were abandoned, due to the owners no longer remembering they had pets (It was a bad time to be a goldfish).

As time went on, as it always does, this became the sad, but “new normal” in the world. There were those who, accepting their fate, remained homeless, wandering from place to place. There were also many who remained where they were, creating new lives for themselves in the best way they could manage. There were also quite a few who chose to use this to their advantage and prey upon whoever they came across. And there were some, overcome with an obsessive need to find answers, not only lost their memories but their minds as well. They became agitated, dangerous even; and most learned very quickly to stay far away from these poor individuals.

Things became more drastic as things went on; for without us remembering and learning from our past mistakes, how can we avoid reliving them? Choas naturally ensued, as most people embraced the “everyone for his or herself” mentality. Turf wars and crimes of hate and passion were rampant. In a time where we all needed to come together to ensure that we wouldn’t relive what we had already done, we instead succumbed to our most raw nature—which threatened to destroy what little we had left.

Something had to be done. People travelled for miles upon miles, reading whatever they could find, searching for answers to who they were or what had happened, and they would come up with nothing. History books just seemed like mere fiction as no one could recollect anything, nothing seemed familiar, and it was hard to tell the difference between fact and fiction—which was understandable since some books would say one thing and other books would say the opposite. All seemed hopeless. All seemed lost. Then one random day, someone accidentally came across a simple heart shaped locket, and everything changed.

The day started out like any other hazy, windy, ash-filled day. An old woman sat on an upturned old crate as she hummed an unrecognizable tune to herself. Her weather-worn gnarled hands were placed on her knees as she watched a few ragamuffin kids playing in a dirt mound a couple yards away. She was sitting slightly hunched in front of the makeshift shelter that had been built for her two years prior after “The Loss”. When all the confusion happened after the bombs, she originally thought her memory loss was purely from her old age. It wasn’t until people all around her were acting just as disoriented as she felt—young and old alike—that she realized it was something more. When she realized the memory wasn’t coming back, she decided right away she was too old to get all frantic and dash around this god forsaken place, and decided since this is where she found herself, this is where she’d stay. She chose the name “Molly” for herself, and that’s what all the folk in this part called her.

What was now her home sat on the rubble of an old house, located in the ruins of what used to be a suburban neighborhood. Most of the buildings had been completely leveled; but the few remaining structures had served as foundations for people to build new homes. It was a small community, but a kind one. Molly was grateful there were still some decent folks in the world—like the ones who had helped her build what was now her home. She had heard of how bad it had become in the more populated areas.

She watched on as the children, a boy and a girl, drew in the dirt with sticks. She chuckled as they argued amongst themselves who’s drawing was better. A low yeowl near her feet changed her attention downward, and she saw her mangy feline companion sauntering about, sniffing at the rubble and pawing at anything that looked remotely like food. Looking at him, you might mistake him for a very large rat. He was not the most attractive looking cat, not by a longshot. His blackish grey fur was patchy on his skin-and-bones frame, most of the fur was gone from his scarred tail, half an ear was missing, and he only had one eye; but he was a faithful companion to her, and he kept the rodents away from her home. Any faithful companion was something worth celebrating in these times. She reached down and pet his course fur; but the cat’s attention had keenly been drawn to the mound of dirt the children had been digging in just moments before (they of course had gotten distracted with a new game to play and had run off).

“What’s he doing?” a little voice spoke next to her. She looked over and a third child, a curious little girl, was eagerly watching the cat.

“I’m not quite sure. Probably found some dinner.” She answered.

Molly watched as the cat slowly and curiously creeped up to the mound and began sniffing and pawing at one of the many holes that had been dug up. He started pawing more frantically at a certain area, meowing and nipping at something in the earth.

“I think he found something!” The child said excitedly.

The woman peered closer, and what she originally thought was the cat’s next “dinner”, appeared to be some sort of shiny string. “Now what do we have here?” She stood up and groaned a bit as she felt her old knees creak and walked slowly over to the spot where the cat was now attempting to chew on the string. As she got nearer, she noticed the dull glint of the string shone brighter when the sun hit it just right. It appeared to be a metallic chain of some sort. She gently batted the cat away, who protested with a louder yeowl. “Here now, none of that. Go get you some real food.” The cat skulked off. She then waved the little girl over. “Can you help me out, darlin? My back isn’t what it used to be.”

The child eagerly ran over to the mound and curiously reached for the exposed part of the chain. It seemed part of it was still tangled in roots or rocks. The child grunted and said “It’s stuck!” and began yanking the chain a bit harder. She managed to free it and held it in her hand with a quizzical expression on her face. “What is it?” she asked. She held it up for the woman to see.

“I’m not sure...” she answered. It was indeed a golden chain but dangling on one end was a tiny golden heart pendant that looked as though you could open it. “Here, let me get a better look.” The child brought it over and dropped it into the woman’s open gnarled hands.

Molly’s eyes snapped wide open. A flood of images washed before her, as though she was witnessing it all in front of her. She saw herself as a child playing with sticks with her brother Ben. Then she saw an older version of herself standing on her porch one summer night as she received her very first kiss from her then boyfriend Steve. She saw her mother standing behind her as they both looked in a mirror while her mother helped her put on this very same locket. She then saw herself running down the steps of a church, with her now husband Steve, as people cheered and threw rice. She saw herself in a hospital bed, holding her brand new baby girl Ellie, as she hummed a tune. She saw herself dancing in front of the kitchen sink with Steve. She saw herself arguing with a now teenager Ellie, about a boy; and then saw herself later that night standing behind Ellie in front of a mirror as she helped her put on that very same locket. She then saw years pass and saw herself sitting next to a grave--

“Molly? Is everything alright?” a concerned woman’s voice asked. It was the little girl’s mother.

Molly was jolted out of her dream-like trance. The waves of memories still flooding her brain in such vivid images. She was trembling at this point with tears spilling down her cheeks. She needed to sit down. “I...I remember everything.”

The news travelled fast. Soon the word had travelled across the world, and everyone knew that it was possible to regain your memory. But how became the question. It was ruled out that it clearly wasn’t just any item you might’ve previously owned. It had to be something of true sentimental value. As more cases of people remembering began to spread, more people ventured out searching for anything that could possibly bring theirs back (which is hard to do when you don’t know what you’ve previously owned). Scroungers would go off into the more rural areas and search for items that they would then sell to shops who were specifically in the market to possibly reunite people to their memories.

And that’s where we are now. It’s been a few years since Molly (whose real name is Peggy) found the necklace; and more and more people are beginning to remember who they are every day. We’ve still got a long way to go; but this gives has given us hope. Maybe this isn’t the end of the world after all.