1/12/2014, 3:11 PM
“Why did you take my memories away?” I asked, holding onto the lady’s hand as I walked and she floated to the forced mental labor camp so she could explain some of the things there. “And exactly how many did you take away?”
“Well,” she said, opening the front doors and floating in while I followed her, “we took away all of your explicit memories because the world beyond the compound is full of violence and hatred towards non-human people. You were raised in that.” She took a deep breath. “We also took away some of your implicit memories- also known as ‘knowledge’- on accident. That explains why you don’t know much about airplanes and flowers and ice cream and bathrooms. Especially bathrooms.”
I looked at her very hard. She stopped and floated in one place for a moment, looking down at me. She was only a few inches taller than me. “What is your name?”
“My name,” she replied, “is Tristiania. You can call me Trist for short.”
“And what is my name?” I couldn’t help asking.
“Your name is Avia.”