Memories are an interesting look into what a human finds most important. I don’t just mean the big events in a person’s life. A birthday party where the family gathers around in joyous celebration, graduating with a degree you worked years of your life to earn, no. These memories most everyone would hold fondly. What I am talking about is the unconscious focus each person has on normal, everyday observations. Those few extra seconds spent looking at the facial structure of the man sitting on the far end of the bus, the side-long glance at a drop of condensation sliding down the side of a car window. These memories that many people don’t realize the have, are the most telling of what their subconscious is focused on.

I am currently wading through the memories of a young girl and all of the expected memories are here. The first crush, the first break-up, passing a difficult test, and receiving her first car. These memories appear and disappear as large frames of space, but what I am focused on is the small pockets of space in-between. I then sift through that space plucking tiny memories no larger than a fingernail out of the air. Each one tells a story, maybe not for this young girl directly, but for those around her as well. 

It didn’t take long to find a memory I was looking for, his image always stands out. He is always in the peripheral of the memories I find. His black hood and red eyes stand out among the crowd of pedestrians as he swiftly walks behind them and then out of sight once more. By the time anyone would have the time to look over, he would be gone. This was the tenth time I had seen this man and I still do not understand who, or what, he is.

I exited the memories of the young girl, back into the sparsely furnished surroundings of the hotel room I was currently staying in. The burst of noise from city traffic finally brought me back to my senses. I was getting better, but the nausea from my journey’s into other’s minds often left me stuck in the bathroom for the next hour. This time was no different. 

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Staggering out of the bathroom, I pulled out my phone to call Eric.

After two rings, his floaty, singsong voice rang out from the other end. “Hey Mitch, how did the dive go?” I shakily sat down on the edge of the bed before responding, “I found another one. Add Rachel Miller to the list. I still wasn’t able to get a good look at him. Same as the others. He’s always in the periphery.” My participation in this journey had begun two years earlier when Eric and I first met in our first few days of college. Our abilities, a rarity in today’s world, connected us, but the man was one of Eric's pet projects after he had learned of his existence much earlier browsing through a variety of message boards online.

“Good work. The pieces of this puzzle are slowly coming together. When will you make it back?” I checked my watch, it was already past midnight. Time always seemed to dilate whenever I entered someone else’s memories.

“I think I’ll stay the night here. It’s too late to head back now. I’ll be back early tomorrow in time for classes.” 

“Cool.” Eric said, “I’ll see you tomorrow. Try to get some sleep this time.” I chuckled, “We’ll see. See you.” I hung up the phone and fell back onto the bed. My stomach growled aching for food as it often did after a dive and purge. I didn’t have the energy to sit back up, much less make it out to a restaurant that might be open at this time of night. 

I could only stare up at the ceiling fan spinning slowly round and round. It’s spinning blades almost hypnotic. Other symptoms would appear after a dive, often much worse than the initial nausea. Memories, not my own, would flash through my mind. Not just from the recent dive either. Memories of other’s I had seen at one point or another would appear. 

A man named David, watching over his cancer-stricken mother knowing there is nothing left that can be done. The variety of emotions and pure helplessness washed over me until the memory switched suddenly to a child screaming. She was running from her drunken father as cursed her very existence. The girl slammed and locked her bedroom door, but that didn’t stop his drunken rampage. He continued to bang on the door as she hid under her bed crying. This is one I couldn’t quite remember the origin of. The memories of the minds I jumped in may fade from that person’s life, but I could remember each one vividly. I carry them around as invisible weights, a curse of the ability I have been born with.

The memories of others continued to flash through my mind as I stared at the ceiling fan. It was going to be another sleepless night.