Humanity's Memories

“What is humanity but memories?” The patient howled, clawing at my hand on his chest.

My scalpel froze in the air.

“What do you know about humanity?” I whispered, shoving an anesthesia-filled mask on his insufferable face.

“Who are you to take my memories-”

The patient’s eyes almost instantly rolled back, succumbing to delusions of better days.

I scoffed at him, crimson streaks running down my gloves. Usually, I could get away with having the patient awake during surgery, only anesthetizing the scalp, as the brain has no pain receptors. They never resisted this much. Who in this world valued their memories anymore?

“Don’t get soft now,” The businessman warned, slouching in the corner chair and clicking his tongue, as usual. His briefcase laid lazily at his side, and his precious shotgun secure on his hip.

I rolled my eyes.

“I think I know how to do my job, just take care of the payment,” I replied.

He motioned to the briefcase, unfazed.

“We always do.”

Without a second thought, I sliced open the patient’s scalp, drilling into the cranium, until I exposed the pulsing brain. Intoxicatingly sweet and red, it drew me closer as a dog bound to a bone, before inevitably, the rhythm of the brain washed over me. Its veins became sloshing rivers around me, the bony ridges the plains, and valleys. Here I was creator, here was my domain. I pulled and twisted, tied and knotted blood vessels, hacked and flattened widening valley-like fissures, and dissected catacombs of the membrane. 

The businessman clicked his tongue.

“Disgusted to see me work?” I asked.

He twirled the pistol in his hand.

“Not nearly the best I’ve seen,” He replied, “But there’s less and less quality these days anyway.”

“I am a distinguished neurosurgeon,” I spat, annoyed at his rude remark.

“It’s who you are now that’s important,” The businessman agreed.

I shook his odd remark off, continuing to work at the sticky organ. Finally, I pulled out the prize: the hippocampus, the key to erasing this man’s long-term memory capacity. I crushed it slowly in my palm, letting the cold red ooze over my fingers. Here was my humanity, yet here wings sprouted out my shoulders, granting me flight above the stars where no one else dared. My gloves stained ruby against the white hospital light, the crumpled hippocampus like a rosy flower on my palm. 

But still, they whispered relentlessly.

‘What do you remember of humanity?’ The blood under my fingernails never seemed to wash off. I stood before my kitchen sink, as water ran over my stained skin. The itch of sin never wore off, ever since I began this job. However long that was, I didn’t seem to remember.

The high of pleasure forever led to a wallow in guilt and self-pity. Who was I to kill memories of a life, however sorrowful it may have been? Memories of hope, memories of joy, had they not been beautiful, despite their fleeting nature? I scrubbed my fingernails harder, watching them crack and bleed. I tried to imagine myself as a hero, saving others from pain in a miserable world. In the end, hadn’t I taken on their pain, crushed it into dust in my palm, forced to wear it like a scar on my soul? 

“Don’t get soft now,” I scolded, turning to the residential teddy bear, which sat neatly on the kitchen counter. He was my only friend, the only one I could confide in, and my biggest secret.

His beady eyes stared into me. I knew he saw more of me than I saw in myself.

“This is about what that man said, isn’t it? ‘Humanity is but memories’ or some freaky philosophical junk? You shouldn’t care so much about what patients may say. Humanity is innovation, it’s saving people from their suffering. In this world, memory is a curse. You have a job to do,” I stomped over to the bear, grabbing it by the neck, “A duty essential to this nation, to your survival. It wasn’t your choice to become who you are!” 

He looked at me plainly, simply smiling as if to goad me on.

“Who do you think you are to judge me? I-” I faltered, “I’m getting soft.”

I tossed the bear on the ground, sprinted to the bathroom, and locked the door shut.

“This won’t do.”

I opened the drawers with a crash, impatiently searching for gloves, a scalpel, a drill, a knife.

A chance for relief.

Trembling with anticipation, I prepared dozens of mirrors on the ceiling, behind my head, below me, and in front of me. A thousand refractions focused on a monster of a man cowering in the mirror’s reflection. I didn’t dare to look too closely at his eyes.

Without a second thought, I grabbed the knife, slicing open my scalp. I used the mirrors above and in front of me to locate the cranium, drilling into it until I exposed the pulsing brain, somehow steaming and sour. Gagging, I let the rhythm of my brain wash over me. I grabbed my scalpel and tweezers, pulling and twisting sloshing rivers of veins, flattening bony ridges, widening valley-like fissures, and dissecting catacombs of the membrane. 

Panting, I finally presented my new prize: bits and parts of the anterior cingulate cortex, ripped and limp in my palm. The key to erasing guilt. I promptly crushed it in my palm, letting the cold red ooze over my shivering fingers. I sighed, my heart easing under the respite of apathy. My gloves, stained ruby in the hospital light offered no stray murmurs of judgment anymore. 

Again, I reached down into the brain cavity, beginning the repair process. 

Suddenly, icy fear ran through my veins. In a panic, I clawed and scraped the corners of the cavity, gasping for air. A horrifying realization took me by the neck, strangling me.

“I should’ve known better.” I choked. In this world, in my position, it should have been expected.

My hippocampus was missing.

Where were my memories?

I stumbled out of the bathroom, blood dripping down my face and splashing onto my feet. My humanity was gone. How many beautiful hopes, how many beautiful dreams had died? Who was I but a shadow?

The teddy bear lay on the kitchen floor, defeated.

I bent down, shaking as I picked up its limp corpse.

“Who was I?” 

Suddenly, a tiny, unnoticeable pink tag on the bear sparkled in the dim light. I held it close to my face, inhaling its dusty warmth. 

‘For Sam.’

Over and over again, I read the tag, until the letters spun round my feet. I stared again into the bear’s eyes, not only a bear but a gift forgotten. A gift from a life long gone.

“I’m… Sam?”

A shotgun fired, and the head of the bear drifted down to the dirt of the ground.