Memories

They continued to sit in silence. The windows let in the saturated yellow light from the dusty afternoon sky. The cafe was surprisingly untouched. Tables and chairs had been flipped over, and there was obviously coffee machines missing, but nothing was destroyed, and there was garbage all over the floor.

He didn't know why, but Lucas could remember this one particular time his mom took him to a cafe. He was eight years old and his mom took him. His mom is where he got his blond hair, and he got his blue eyes from his dad. His mom usually didn't let him drink coffee when he was younger, so she'd get him a carton of chocolate milk. It looked like juice box and he loved it. But he'd always ask to drink what his mom had, and finally, on this particular day, she finally said "okay, fine." She let him have a sip. Lucas spat it out on the table. He absolutely hated it. His mom had to clean up his mess.

Of course, years later after the rapture, he'd come to grow and addiction to it. Not because it tasted any better, or that it even woke him up better. He drank it because it reminded him of that one seemingly insignificant moment of time, but for no particular reason, it meant so much to him. Maybe he just missed his mother.

He didn't even remember how she died. He couldn't remember how his dad died either. All he knew was that he was thirteen, and they got very sick. He was evacuated from one place to another, probably his unit.

He covered his face in embarrassment by this memory. Even now, over two decades later, he still felt bad for doing that.

He also remembered another moment, this time with his dad. His dad had taken him and his mom out of state to a football game. He remembered there being strict laws when he was a kid. Curfews, travel restrictions, and if you broke any of these laws they'd send you to what were essentially labor camps. But for events like these, they'd allow under some circumstances to break some of these laws. The curfew was generally started at 9:30 PM all the way to 6:00 AM, but the night he took Lucas and his mom to the game, they got stay out until 11:00 when the game ended. They even got to leave their hotel early for the flight home. Lucas didn't even remember who won that game. It wasn't important. But he did remember sitting there with his dad, and when his dad jumped out of his seat and cheered, he would as well.

Lucas, despite not being capable of remembering the H.S.A. could remember things that related to it. He recalled the time he was married, which had to have been in the Unit, and something strange he could remember was him walking down a hallway. There was nothing happening. There was no reason to remember this. But he did. He didn't know why. Maybe there was something secretly significant about this memory that he couldn't recall. He doubted it.

The hallway was just like the ones in Unit twenty-one. Bland and lifeless. Very corporate.

Lucas took inventory of all of his memories, at least the ones that were still with him. There was a pattern. For every one significant memory, there would be three unimportant ones. Him walking through a hallway, something gross he hate, making his bed, memories of that general nature.

He wished he could remember more. He doubted the existence of his own son. He didn't have any memories of his wife while pregnant. He only faintly remembered her saying she was. Maybe he was making memories up. That was something he didn't want to accept, but it was a real possibility. A scary possibility.

There was one thing he could remember perfectly well, however. When he got lost, he was stranded in a desert. It was the Pacific Ocean which was completely dry. He was out there for at least a month, but this was before he knew about his immortality. Lucas had no idea where he was. It was by dumb luck he chose to go east. If he hadn't, he could've been lost in that dried ocean forever.

There were no apostles to be seen. Not a single one. He wandered for days. On the first day, he didn't have a problem. It was cold, and he was a little hungry. At the time he felt like he was starving, but compared to what he'd feel in a couple days, it was nothing. He sat in one place throughout the night. His teeth were chattering violently. It was freezing. He was surprised he didn't get hypothermia. If it weren't for his immortality, he probably would've been killed by it.

There was not a single droplet of water to be seen anywhere. On the second day he had his first breakdown. He knew he was going to die out there. He would never see his wife again. He'd never feel the comfort of his couch again. He cried for hours. He did eventually get back up after convincing himself that somehow everything was going to be alright.

On the third day he felt nothing but exhaustion. The lack of food and water was getting to him. He'd occasionally find a fish, but he'd spit it out after taking the first bite. Sometimes he'd throw it up if he forced himself to swallow. Just by trying to eat something, more of the contents of his stomach were ejected. He cut his time by half. Even if he could eat, there was still no water. In the end, it never mattered anyway.

On the fourth day, he lay there on the top of the highest mound of sand. He was in pain. His legs were sore. His stomach was completely empty. He needed water desperately.

He was going to die. He thought about that a lot as he lay there. He thought about what it'd be like after he died. He contemplated the existence of an afterlife. He was never one to be very religious, but he found himself praying there to a god that had long since abandoned them and their wasted world. Needless to say, his prayers went unanswered.

On the fifth day. He tried to get up. His weak arms shook as he tried to push himself up. Before he knew it, he was tumbling down the dunes, rolling to the bottom of a pit. When he stopped, he realized there was no point anymore. He was too far from home, the extent of which was unknown to him, but he knew there was no way he was ever getting home.

Every second he was alive was torture. He had his gun with him. After a minute of grim contemplation, he turned the gun onto himself. When he woke up it was night. He thought for a second he was dead. The darkness scared him. But he soon realized he was, in fact, alive. Well, maybe not alive in the traditional sense, but he was breathing. That was when he knew that he was immortal.

Lucas looked back on this memory a lot. He had a lot of regrets. Some of the decisions he'll make in the future will probably create all new ones. But of all his regrets, this one was the biggest. If he had just continued on and didn't attempt to take his own life, he could've remained human, even for just a couple days longer.

After he did that, when the sun lit the sky, he saw the angel for the first time. The first time he could remember. He remembered feeling scared of it at first, but that fear dwindled. Eventually it was replaced with resentment but a couple months later.

Memories are a curious thing. They are so important, they shape who we are, and yet they are so fragile. Sometimes Lucas wondered what would happen if he were to forget everything. If he were to forget his immortality. If he were to forget about his wife, his child, Stella, the angel, and everything else, would he be human again? If not, would all the sorrow and pain that come with these memories be removed? He thought about that. Perhaps not. But it was something to think about.