"Every Twenty Minutes"

My name is Ethan Cole... and every twenty minutes, I wake up in a new world.

Not because the world changes — but because I forget.

Twenty minutes. That’s all my memory can hold. After that… it’s gone. Erased. Like sand slipping through my fingers.

(Pause — a faint ticking sound)

Tick. Tock.

That’s how I live — measuring life in fragments of time.

I remember waking up this morning… or maybe it was afternoon. The sunlight was pouring through the curtains, and there was a note on the table.

It said, “Ethan, your coffee’s ready. Don’t forget to drink it before it gets cold. — Claire.”

Claire.

The name felt warm… familiar. But when I tried to picture her face — it blurred, like smoke.

(A short breath — confusion building)

I searched the house — photographs, sticky notes, reminders on every wall.

“Take your pills.”

“Call Dr. Harris.”

“Claire is your wife.”

Wife.

I said the word out loud, trying to feel its weight.

(Softly, with ache)

But love means remembering. How do you love someone you keep forgetting?

Every twenty minutes, Claire becomes a stranger again. And yet — every time I meet her, I fall in love all over again.

(Background fades — enter soft hum of refrigerator, a house at peace)

She came into the kitchen, holding a mug. Her eyes tired, but gentle.

“Good morning, Ethan.”

I smiled, pretending I knew the script of our life. “Good morning, Claire.”

She looked at the clock — 10:03 AM. I saw her shoulders tense. She knew… in seventeen minutes, I’d forget her again.

(Slow background heartbeat begins)

“Do you remember where we met?” she asked.

I hesitated. The answer wasn’t there. Just… emptiness.

“At the bookstore,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “You spilled coffee on me.”

(A soft chuckle — then quiet sadness)

She smiled through tears, as if trying to make me remember by sheer hope.

I wanted to hold onto that moment.

Her smile. The light. The smell of her perfume.

I whispered, “Write it down for me.”

She did. On a yellow sticky note.

“Met Claire at bookstore. Spilled coffee.”

She placed it on the fridge — next to dozens of others.

Moments of a life I can’t keep.

(Clock ticks louder — a faint sense of time running out)

Ten minutes left.

I felt panic rising. My mind — my own mind — turning against me.

“Claire,” I said, “what happens when I forget again?”

She took my hand.

“You’ll wake up scared,” she said softly. “But you’ll read the notes. You’ll know you’re safe. You’ll know you’re loved.”

(Soft piano resumes — bittersweet melody)

Five minutes left.

She pulled me close, whispering, “Let’s make a new memory, even if it’s just for a little while.”

We danced in the living room. No music, just her heartbeat against mine.

And for a moment — the world was still.

(Fade to silence — then clock ticking again)

Then… darkness.

(Soft breath — confusion resets)

Where am I?

A kitchen.

A note on the table.

“Ethan, your coffee’s ready. Don’t forget to drink it before it gets cold. — Claire.”

Claire.

Who’s Claire?

(Pause — sound of footsteps, curiosity)

I walk through the house again. Photographs on the wall. Sticky notes everywhere.

Each one a clue in a life I don’t remember living.

Then I see her — standing in the doorway, eyes shining with both love and exhaustion.

“Good morning, Ethan,” she says.

And though I don’t know her, something in me… recognizes her.

Like my soul remembers what my mind cannot.

(Gentle, hopeful music builds)

I smile. “Good morning, Claire.”

She smiles back. And for the next twenty minutes — I belong to this world again.

(Music swells — fade out slowly)