Memory Editing Wreaks Havoc (FICTOID)
Jupiter, 2017 AT (after Trump):
The big ship floats high above the gas giant, a sharp smell of pine cones and flower blossoms in the air.
“I can’t remember what chocolate tastes like,” the young man said. A mere 120 standard years old, he did not seem troubled by this.
His mother (five times his age) plucked pears from a tree behind him, standing on an extension ladder. The Jovian sunrise shined through the transparent biodome and lit her face like a radiant statue.
“Do you want to remember?” she asked.
“I don’t know. What if I don’t like it?”
“Everybody likes chocolate. Taste some.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“I forgot.”
“’You forgot.’ Son, I love you, but you’re not the sharpest crayon in the box.”
“I’m not stupid.”
“I didn’t say you were -- but you are foolish.”
“That’s just as bad.”
His mother shrugged. “Forget I ever said it -- “ then immediately regretted her words as her son twisted the dial on his selective memory editor.
Designed to make certain memories more vivid by eliminating all superfluous memory, the domestic model quickly proved a problem by erasing small memories one wanted to keep, in this case: Chocolate.
The sunlight streamed through a fine spray mist as steam pumped into the biodome cooled rapidly to fall as a warm gentle rain.
The mother climbed down, snapped her fingers, and the ladder clattered off to its slot in the storage shed. She offered her son a pear.
“What’s that?”
“A pear.”
“Does it taste like chocolate?”
“No,” said his mother.
“Then why would I want to eat it?
“And who are you, anyway?”
© Buzz Dixon
