#factual memory

[20minutesofcoherence]

The Quiet

The halls were crowded with high school students, everyone trying to squeeze past everyone else. Here and there groups of students clustered together at a locker or outside a door, like islands in the seething sea of adolescent sweat, breath, and hormones. After considering his surroundings for a moment, Dirk decided the traffic in the hallway was actually more like a river. Whitewater rapids. But then, if he considered the students to be a river, the island metaphor wouldn't fit. He shook his head, filing the issue away to be dealt with later, and ducked just in time to avoid being accidentally smacked in the face by someone's elbow.

Dirk once again reached into his strange memory and located the room where he was to have his next class. Room 207. English Literature. Excellent. He felt like he was really getting the hang of this unique method of remembering things. He still had no idea where it had come from, or why, but for now he was content with the fact that it was working much better than what appeared to be the standard amongst his fellow students.

Classes went by in a blur. He sat through nearly all of them on autopilot, his memory perfectly recording every tidbit of information he encountered and spitting it back out for him whenever he requested. Even the things that others might consider useless were fascinating to him, and he enjoyed going back over them during the duller parts of the day. The way the sun's rays hit a certain girl's hair, making her usual dark brown appear to be a gingery chestnut color. The sound of a boy from three or four periods ago rapidly scribbling a note. Small things, but essential. He found that he had trouble retaining experiential memories for longer than a day or so. Nearly all of it would revert to raw information every time he went to sleep.

This morning he had come up with the idea of keeping a sketch diary. He had discovered in himself a significant artistic talent a few days after his... well, he referred to it as his 'Awakening'. Yes, with a capital A. It felt like the right term. Dirk decided he would buy a thick, blank sketchbook after school today; it wouldn't be able to record all of the sensations that he lost every night, but at least it would be something. Humans are very visual creatures, he thought, so being able to record images would be a significant improvement over words. Besides, he had no need to record words.

The final bell rang, and Dirk pushed through the river of students towards his locker. He seemed to be going against the current no matter which way he turned. After a few minutes, he finally managed to reach his locker and retrieve his jacket. He left his textbooks in the locker; he already knew them all by heart anyway.

After leaving the main building, he headed towards the lunch yard and cafeteria to take his usual shortcut. It was perfect for someone with an aptitude for climbing and a complete disregard for school safety policies. Since Dirk possessed both of those qualities, and the main exit was in the opposite direction, he thought it quite unlikely that he would ever be caught climbing around on the cafeteria roof.

However, as he rounded the corner into the lunch yard, he saw something... strange. This was something new. Five teenagers - fellow high school seniors, by the looks of them - were standing under the overhang. As Dirk approached them, he got a better look at what was going on. Four boys and one girl. One of the boys, dressed in a black leather jacket and neat, black jeans, was holding another boy by the shirt with one hand and menacingly shaking his other fist in the boy's face. The girl was standing near the first boy, looking slightly impatient. Her blonde hair spilled down her back, ending in a bunch of ringlets. She was wearing a skirt short enough to make Dirk wonder if he should actually think of it as an unusually wide belt instead. The other two boys were dressed somewhat similarly to the first and stood off to one side.

"...and if I EVER catch you looking at my girlfriend like that again, you disgusting dork-" the first boy was saying as Dirk got within earshot.

"Hey, asshole!" one of the other boys said to Dirk, "Get outta here, this isn't the county fuckin' fair for you to gawk at!"

Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to look at Dirk.

"I can see that," Dirk responded, but didn't move to leave. "What exactly is going on here?"

The obvious leader of the group glared at Dirk. "It's none of your business," he said. "Who are you, anyway?"

Dirk eyed the two toughs, particularly the one who'd been swearing at him. Indeed, he thought, quite intimidating. However, observations formed in his brain, the extra information unrequested but certainly not unappreciated. These particular bullies were obviously used to intimidating smaller, isolated prey. It was unlikely that they had ever actually been in a proper fight, and Dirk was suddenly utterly positive that they would immediately back down from anything approaching a fair fight.

He glanced over at the leader's girlfriend. She was wearing a very flattering top, the kind that was cut to show as much skin as she could get away with. However, aside from those other... assets, she did have a very pretty face. A very pretty face which was currently set in a very bored pout.

About five seconds had passed. The tension was thickening, and the leader looked about to order his followers to pummel Dirk into the ground.

"Who am I?" asked Dirk, feigning surprise. "I, ah, I take it you just want my name? Not an in-depth description of who I exactly am, yes?"

"You know what? Forget it," said the leader, and nodded to the toughs. "Shut him up, get him out of here. He's irritating me." The other boy had tried to slip away in the meantime, but the leader maintained an iron grip on his shirt.

Well, that went about as well as expected, thought Dirk, and turned to run.

[20minutesofcoherence]

It was morning. The early-autumn sun poked a few rays through the blinds, illuminating a rather tidy bedroom. The bedroom was apparently situated somewhere in the attic, since a large part of the windowed ceiling was slanted. The general color theme of the room was light pastel blue, with white or brown furniture. Some posters were spread out over the walls and ceiling; a few were for games, most for movies or bands. Any wall space not covered by posters was taken up by shelves and shelves of books. There was a desk near the door, and a sizable dresser and mirror were set up against the lower wall. Directly across from the desk and door was a bed, next to a window and a walk-in closet.

A young man, who had been lying in the bed, woke up. The first sound he heard was birdsong. It was... beautiful. He looked around slowly, taking in the sight of his room as if seeing it for the first time. He rubbed his face and sat up to yawn and stretch. Then the first thought crossed his mind.

"Where am I?"

"I am at home," came the answer, or rather memory. And yet it seemed... wrong. As if these were not his memories.

"Speaking of which... Who am I?"

There was no immediate answer this time, although after a few moments he managed to come up with a name.

"My name is Dirk Makowski." He said it out loud, for some reason. It felt strange, hearing his own voice. He couldn't remember ever hearing it before. He couldn't remember... anything. Dirk wasn't quite sure there even was anything to remember. As far as he knew, he had not even existed up until his waking up a few minutes ago.

He got out of bed. It was the strangest sensation. All of these sensations were strange. They were somehow both familiar and completely alien at the same time. He was in full control of his body, he knew this for sure; but he couldn't remember ever using it before. He had no memories of ever learning to walk, although he certainly wasn't having any problems with it.

Dirk walked over to the mirror and looked at himself. He couldn't remember ever seeing himself before. It was bizarre; on one hand he felt like he was looking at a stranger, yet on the other hand he instantly knew that the person in the mirror was definitely him. He was a young man, probably somewhere between 16 and 20 years old, and reasonably handsome in a sharp, lanky way. He had pale green eyes and medium-length, black hair. His skin had a slight tan to it, but he could see that he was going to be quite pale by the end of winter. He stripped out of his pajamas and looked at his body. Athletic, but more along the lines of a sprinter than a brawler. He didn't look like he would be winning many weightlifting contests, but he was willing to bet he could easily win a 100-yard dash.

Dirk put his pajamas back on and walked out of his room. He found the bathroom just down the hall and took a shower. As he showered, he looked at his hands and realized that he was farsighted. He remembered that his glasses were on his desk. Again, strange memories, not quite his own. He didn't remember putting his glasses there, but he remembered the fact that they were there. Actually, that seemed to be the heart of the matter, or at least close to it: he had no sensory recollection of anything. All he could remember were facts.

He finished his shower, and went back to his room to dress. As he dressed, he dug through his memory and came up with a few facts about his life. He was a high school senior. He was 17 years old, which fit within his initial assessment. He had apparently been very introverted in school and had no friends, having preferred to bury himself in books. He sketched and practiced free running and climbing in his spare time. He lived in the suburbs of a small city in mid-northern California.

Dirk looked at the clothes he had put on. All black. Mister 'dark and mysterious'. He dug through his drawers and tried to find something more colorful to wear, although the best he could find was navy blue, very dark browns and greens, and some white. It would have to do. He changed, and looked in the mirror again. Brown-black sneakers, dark blue jeans, a plain black t-shirt and a jean jacket. His glasses were big, rectangular things with thick black rims. Fortunately he only needed them for reading. He folded his glasses away into a hard container in his jacket pocket, and went downstairs to eat breakfast.

It was the first day of school. Dirk Makowski wondered whether it was by coincidence that it was also the first day of his life. Well, his new life.