In our May/June 2008 issue “Magic of Memory”, we challenged you to write an unforgettable story with memory as its main theme. Here are our top four entries!

Neil Goldenstein glanced down at his newspaper and sighed. He already knew what it said, right down to the misused comma on page 3C, because Neil had been reading the same newspaper for 726 days straight. A Boy Scout troop was given an award, the fire department rescued Mrs. Higgins’ cat, and a local artist’s sculpture was placed in the park. The first time Neil had read this paper, he hardly noticed the absence of bank robberies, murders, and other unfortunate events. Now, however, he began to realize that he sort of missed them. Life was good, but without the contrast of the bad, it just seemed ordinary. In fact, it was hardly life at all.

Just as he had for the past 726 days, Neil finished his coffee at approximately 7:31 a.m. and took the sky train to work, arriving exactly one minute early. He worked in the memory department at the city government office. His job was simple, to ensure that everyone lived the same day over and over. Two years ago, the United States government had adopted the use of memory erasing drugs first discovered in the 1960s. By forcing each of its citizens to repeat the same day, the government was able to remain one step ahead of all the criminals and wrongdoers in communities and cities across the country because the police knew from the previous day what to prepare for. Therefore, the country remained “perfect”. All Neil and his coworkers had to do was distribute the drug all over their city each night. Citizens were told that it was a vaccine.

Dr. Agranoff’s drug blocked transcription from DNA to RNA. This was able to effectively “erase” the new memories of those who were given the shot. By perfecting the drug, memory specialists were able to limit the effects to exactly a day. Those working for the government, such as Neil, were the only ones exempt from the process. In the beginning, Neil had believed that this would be beneficial to his city and the world he lived in, but now he was having second thoughts. “Was it ethical?” he wondered, And even if it was, there could be no denying that the effects were detrimental to life in the long run. He decided that life encompassed everything: the good and the bad, and he made a decision to put things right.

That night, when the rest of the country was quietly sleeping off their latest round of “vaccinations”, Neil crept into the office where he worked. He saw the huge vat of bubbling liquid that he was so used to seeing. He destroyed the room, shredding and burning the instructions for the vaccine’s production. He boiled away the remaining store in the large vat, along with the last of the ingredients to make more. When the police arrived at the scene, it was too late.

The next morning, Neil Goldenstein woke up in a new place for the first time in two years. He shook open the morning paper and sighed. Page 3C was entirely free of grammatical errors, a photo showed graffiti covering the side of the police station, and six different banks had been robbed within the last 24 hours. Hs own face stared grimly back at him from the front page. He hadn’t known it then, but his rebellion had sparked a revolution around the country. Sabotage and strikes finally ended the day that has lasted for two years. His picture showed him sitting in his cold and dim jail cell, facing charges of robbery, property damage, and treason. He sighed again and folded his hands behind his head. Time slowly ticked forward. Yes, life was life again, and life was good.

Mona’s eyes jerked suddenly wide open. Her heart was pounding wildly in her chest. She had the odd sensation of being awakened from a nightmare, with her muscles tensed and her face hot and beaded with sweat. Mona’s vision swirled and churned; and her pupils constricted under the bright light. Her head felt light, but her body felt stiff and sore, like a lead weight.

In a sudden jolt Mona sat up. There were people surrounding her. Men in uniforms eyed her with a stern interest, while others murmured indistinctly to one another. Mona fervently glanced around like a frightened mouse. Her eyes were wide. She couldn’t recall why she was here or how.

Then a woman stepped forward wearing a suit. She motioned for the others to leave. After the last person had left and the door clicked shut, she spoke, projecting her voice to fill the silence of the small, white room.

“Hello,” she said in a formal tone. “My name is Dr. Margrett Risspam. I’m the psychiatrist of this facility. You’ve been in a severe accident and I’m afraid you’ll be staying with us for a while. You see, you have something called retrograde amnesia. You don’t have any recollection of the incident or of anything prior. We’ll have to keep you under observation for a few days. But until then, I am here to assist you.” Dr. Risspam finished and Mona studied her facial features. She had said everything in a monotone.

“What happened?” asked Mona in a whisper.

“I’m afraid that’s confidential,” replied Risspam.

“But you’re here to help me?” Mona questioned further.

“Indeed,” she replied, before walking out of the room, leaving Mona alone, staring at the white tiled floor while she sat on her small white bed inside her small white room. Mona’s eyes were misted over in deep thought. She glanced down at her pale blue scrubs with a metal tag attached on the front over her heart with the numbers “3026”.

The next day when Mona awoke, the room still felt strange to her. Everything was so orderly and sanitized and she couldn’t help but wonder if her home had been anything like this, but she doubted it. This place didn’t have any warmth or any comfort. It was just a room.

The nurses and Dr. Risspam brought food, water, puzzles, and most importantly, books. With books Mona read about places distant and exotic. It was hard to believe that these places could actually exist beyond her walls somewhere. Could it even be possible that perhaps Mona had even been to these worlds before? Had she climbed a mountain or seen the ocean’s waves as they washed over her toes in foam?

But perhaps the most perplexing of all was Tom. Every day Mona was allowed and escorted a large field, lush with trees and flowers. The entire vicinity was surrounded by a large concrete wall, too high to climb over with large metal doors at the far side and a security-coded lock on the opposite wall right by the door, from which Mona entered.

She was taken from her room and led down many interesting hallways lined with many doors, which Mona was almost certain contained other rooms like hers. When she was finally let outside, Mona’s eyes widened in wonderment. It was the most beautiful thing she could ever recall seeing. But moments later the door behind Mona clicked again only to dispense a boy wearing the same scrubs and about the same age as Mona.

Mona sat down and motioned for the boy to come and sit too. “I’m Mona,” she said. “I was in a terrible accident, so now I can’t remember what my life was like before…”

“I’m Tom,” he said. “And at least you have a future. I have something called antegrade amnesia. Every day I wake up and I don’t know where I’m at. That Dr. Risspam lady gave me a camera and a journal, but what is there to keep track of? I once had a family before I got the disease. But now even that bit of memory is beginning to fade.”

Mona just stared at Tom before speaking again. “Well, I know I’ve never met you before, so if you want we could take a picture together and I could write my name on the back..”

Tom took out the camera solemnly and handed it to Mona. She took the picture and signed on the back: “Your friend—Mona.” She handed the camera back to Tom.

“They monitor and observe us,” said Tom, looking into Mona’s eyes. “They have security cameras everywhere. It’s going to be dusk soon, they’ll come to get us back to our rooms, but we’ll have to escape.”

Mona sat in bewilderment. She looked up towards the pinking sky and saw a flock of birds flying off to anywhere their wings would take them in the world. “Okay,” she said, “Let’s do it.” And with that she leapt up with surprising energy and bounded over to the surveillance camera, where she unclipped her metal tag and drove it into the lens. The glass cracked and shattered.

“Come on!” cried Mona, motioning for Tom. “We don’t have much time now.” They ran over to the coded lock, but what as the code? They were running out of time fast. The guards would be here in moments now.

In a flash Mona thought of something. Se quickly punched in the numbers “3-0-2-6.” Instantly the doors on the far side buzzed and clicked open. Sirens were going off inside the building. Guards burst through the doors along with Dr. Risspam.

Tom and Mona sprinted across the field, dodging behind the foliage, then rushed through the back double doors. In a brief instant Mona saw what lay beyond the walls. It was so beautiful. But at that moment Mona felt a giant electric surge rush up her spine along with a giant “BANG!” She fell to the ground paralyzed, with Tom at her side.

“I thought you said you would help us?” Mona cried as her vision blurred out of focus.

“You’re helping us,” replied Dr. Risspam with wet eyes. “Tom—Time Occupied Machine. Mona—Memory Observations for Neurological Advancement.”

Mona’s head hurt. She thought she could hear the songs of birds in the distance as men came to hold her down. One of them looked up at Dr. Risspam and said, “They got farther this time. Would you like us to run through the test again?”

I am Mark M’kett. I’m here to tell you a story of mine that happened so long ago, when I was only 11 years old. If you get nightmares easily, I would stop reading here. This is what is in my memory, something that should exist only in my imagination…

I can’t sleep. I close my eyes and try to think about how tired I am, but it doesn’t help. I glance at the clock on my bedside table. 1:47 AM. Too late. I continue to toss and turn for a while longer, but that doesn’t help either. I look at the indoor thermometer next to my window. 81 degrees. Too hot. I try thinking through the events of that day, nothing special had happened. It was like all the other days of my life.

I think about dreams I’ve had in the past, the good dreams, and the nightmares. Of course the nightmares seemed to sink into my head a little better than the good dreams, so I tried to stop thinking about that. My hand dangled down next to the bed, where it wasn’t so hot, but then things happened… I could feel something drawing nearer to my hand, a presence of sorts. It scared me and I almost pulled my hand back, but it seemed silly. There were no monsters. They didn’t exist. So my hand stayed put. I was able to forget my fears for a while and let my mind wander around to other things.

Then a bolt of pain shot up my arm. Something had me. It had my hand. I was so giddy with fear I couldn’t scream or make any noise at all. I could feel the thing’s small, razor-sharp claws digging into my hand. They clawed my arms and pulled me closer, closer to the fangs I could now see, glinting in the pale light coming off my digital clock. I fell off the bed. It had me. The claws dug into me and pulled me farther under the bed. The skin I could see on its strong wiry arm was a deep purple color, with both hair and scales simultaneously. Its needle claws climbed all over me. I could feel its hot, stinking breath on my face. Then darkness.

When I woke up, the sun was shining through my window. I could hear birds chirping outside. I was lying on my bed as if nothing had happened.

Had it juts been a dream? Had I imagined it all? It seemed so real. I could still feel its claws on my skin. I checked my hand, but there were no scratch marks there. It was as if it had never happened and yet the memory was so strong. Perhaps it was false. A fake memory made up by my imagination. But it seemed so real…

I guess I’ll never know. Everything in my knowledge said it was a false memory, but my mind refused to believe that. I can still remember it as clear as crystal, without the usual fuzziness of dreams. I have recalled it so many times over, to try and find a hint, a clue; anything that might suggest what it really was, true or false.

I could take a pill to blot it out, but despite the terror of it, I don’t want to. I want to remember it forever, keeping that familiar horror of it locked inside me. So in my head it remains the same as if had when it first happened, 36 years before.

I wasn’t too happy about the move myself, but what could I do? My dad had gotten a transfer, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. We were going to look at houses this afternoon, so I had to be picked up early from school. Parking in the driveway of the house we were going to look at, we got out of the car, opened the door, and walked into the living room. Almost immediately I felt a blast of cold air in my face and –I know this sounds weird—but it was like the house knew things. Crazy, huh? Shaking the feeling off, I walked around the room, looking at the light blue curtains and writing my name in the dust on the shelf: Ethan.

My parents loved the house, and soon the deal was finalized. We would be moving next month, whether I liked it or not. Later that day I explained to my mom how hard if would be for me to adjust to a new setting and make new friends, to practically start my life over, but since when do my parents listen to me?

School dragged by, the move coming nearer and nearer, looming over me like an enormous shadow. Finally April came and we al packed into the car: my mom, my older sister Miranda, and I. As we drove through the neighborhood, I noticed several things I hadn’t seen before, the wrecked neighborhood sign reading Oakley Heights, for instance, and the fact that no one was outside.

My dad had gone ahead with the moving van, and the door was unlocked when we arrived. Miranda and I went upstairs to choose our rooms while the adults talked downstairs. I found one that I liked, with a bay windows looking out into the backyard. The strange feeling I mentioned earlier was stronger here, but I was used to it by now, more curious than afraid.

Bouncing up and down on my bed, I looked around the room and immediately spotted a small box on the window sill. It struck me as odd that the family would leave it here, and I went to examine it.

Turning it over in my hands, I saw a word scratched into the old wood: Remember. I found a latch, and to my surprise, it was not locked. The box opened with a small creak, and I gasped in awe at what I saw, or rather, felt. It was the same feeling I had felt when I first entered the house, only magnified hundreds of times. Then came the memories. Not my memories, but others, rushing into my head, forming a state of confusion and chaos. They weren’t memories, really, just brief flashes of feelings. I placed my hands inside the box and the memories grew clearer. I felt something slipping away and I realized it was my memories. First learning to ride a bike, standing on the highest branch of an oak tree looking down at my parents and sister below me, everything, slipping down the drain, leaking through holes and disappearing. I attempted to close the box, but it was too late. And then I was flying, past galaxies and through the stars, seeing lights and colors and hearing strange music. In the distance I saw a speck of white, like the end of a tunnel. Flying closer, I realized it as not at all a tunnel, but a glowing orb, expanding bigger and bigger until everything was light, and suddenly I saw my family. They were reaching and calling out to me, the white light growing brighter and brighter. I flew closer, nearly there, and suddenly it went black.

When I opened my eyes, the box was on the floor, its lid closed, but it was unrecognizable to me. My books, my toys, even my bed were unfamiliar. Looking at the school papers on my desk, nothing came back. Exhausted, I lay down and immediately fell asleep. When I awoke for the second time, I glimpsed my parents at the foot of my bed.

Seeing their worried faces above me, everything came rushing back. “We heard some noises and thoughts something might have happened.”

More than you would ever know, I thought to myself. “I don’t know, maybe I was just tired,” I replied.

The first thing I did was destroy the box.. Nothing much has happened since then, but I can still feel the exhilaration, the excitement of knowing that very briefly, I touched another world.

Roll up yours sleeves, grab a pencil and paper, paint and scissors, or glue and string and get those creative juices flowing. We can't wait to see your best ideas, pictures, stories, and poems featured in ODYSSEY magazine or on this Web site! Remember to always include your full name, age, and address with your submissions.

Send entries to:

ODYSSEY
30 Grove St., Suite C
Peterborough, NH 03458

CONTEST:
Boomerang! Rats, Snakes, and Spiders

These critters are usually right at the top of the Least Loved List. In fact, some people actually have disorders called herpetophobia (abnormal fear of snakes and other reptiles) or arachnophobia (abnormal fear of spiders). Are you among them? Or do you think these creatures are misunderstood? Write us a note or even a poem expressing your attitude toward these lowly beings. Add a drawing, if you like. Send them to: BOOMERANG!, ODYSSEY, 30 Grove Street, Suite C, Peterborough, NH 03458. Or email them to odysseymagazine@caruspub.com. Your entry could earn you a free subscription to ODYSSEY!

CONTEST:
Super Suit

Read the Science Scoop about the XOS robotic suit, and watch a video of the suit in action at: www.raytheon.com/broadcast/exoskeleton_hightlights.asx. Then think of some creative non-military applications for the XOS. Perhaps the suit would assist disabled people, or help one construction worker do the work of ten. What do you think? Email your response to odysseymagazine@caruspub.com or write to: SUPER SUIT, ODYSSEY, 30 Grove Street, Suite C, Peterborough, NH 03458.

CONTEST:
Lightning Power

Hat would you do with a bolt of lightning? If it were possible to call down lightning when and where you wanted it, how would you use this ability? Think beyond destruction! What else would lightning be good for? Draw a picture of your idea ad write a short description. Email your response to odysseymagazine@caruspub.com or write to: LIGHTNING POWER, ODYSSEY, 30 Grove Street, Suite C, Peterborough, NH 03458.

CONTEST:
Your Very Own Robot!

Mark Cutkosky, creator of StickyBot (see “Robo-Speak”), has some advice for ODYSSEY readers. “Robotics is still a fairly new field, so there are many discoveries waiting to be made by creative young minds. Go watch some animals and get inspired, like Leonardo da Vinci. Then go to the library and learn how they work. See if you can build something out of hobby materials that emulates (imitates) the particular functions (actions of the body part) that you are most inspired by.” Take a photo or draw a picture of your project, describe how it works, and give it a name! Email your robot design to odysseymagazine@caruspub.com or snail mail it to MY ROBOT, ODYSSEY, 30 Grove Street, Suite C, Peterborough, NH 03458. We’ll choose a favorite and the designer will receive a free one-year subscription to ODYSSEY and have his or her robot featured in a future issue for all our readers to see.
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