Category: Process

Jeunory: Celebration

28 September 2062

Are birthdays worth celebrating?

Emotions.

In John’s world, things seem to be pretty rigid, most people kept to themselves and mostly lived a routine life. There were still festivals and nation wide celebrations, but John was never really sure what they were celebrating.

“Ah,” John sighed as he picked up a polaroid picture of himself with a birthday cake. A wry smile was imprinted on his face. He didn’t seem happy then. Neither does he seem happy now, he would much rather find a picture of the company he was celebrating the birthday with.

Why would he be happy during his birthday anyway? Why were birthdays even a thing to celebrate?

To everybody’s understanding, memory spans go with the amount of years you have left to live. If you had 40 years of life span left, you’d have a 40 day long memory span. People may grow older everyday, but birthdays really counted. They are the obvious days you’d be reminded that you’d have one day less in your new memory span.

Who do people celebrate birthdays with anyway? Heck, do people even remember their own birthdays? It didn’t make sense, especially when you didn’t remember the people who gifted you the gift of life, albeit not a very memorable one.

The old polaroid tugged at John’s heartstrings as a wave of emotions somehow overcame him.

Now he’s eager to investigate.

Jeunory – Law

16 December, 2069

The winter is cold and I am about to give up.

Current Memory Span: 40/45 Days.

Persistance.

Was he always this messy? John thought to himself as he stares blankly at the pieces of paper wildly pasted all over the walls. What was he thinking when he was putting them up? Was he in a rush? Did it never occur to him during any of these memory spans to clean up? Perhaps this is the memory span to do it. To finally clean up and come up with a more systematic approach. A way that he could easily process what was going on in his next memory span. It was probably a good way to plough through all these damned notes too.

He glances at the red book, and decided that he can get to it after cleaning up. He was confident that he had 44 days left and he was going to spend the first day figuring things out.

He scavenged the space and made himself some coffee and food.

 

John set out to sort the notes in chronological order but quickly thought that past John couldn’t be such an idiot. If these needed to be in chronological order, he could have just kept a regular journal and wrote them in pages. Why were they placed this way? Maybe, just maybe, he couldn’t bother anymore since it was different waking up from each memory reset.

One would instinctively snap pictures of the room in it’s original state. But John knew he couldn’t. His gut told him that everything about this room had to stay secret.

He reviewed the notes he had collected on hand. This time, he was going to sort them in categories.

In the first category, Law:

Rule no. 1. Maintain a perfect, happy world.

That seems to be what makes this world work. It seems like the agenda of their ‘subtle’ propaganda, though not something that they outright announce. I know for a fact that life wasn’t always like that. Something must have happened… Something that no one, at least no citizens can remember.

The computer in the basement seems to know something, only if i could unlock the hidden contents.

I’ve also found out that I was, or am, something called a journalist. But in this world, in this day and age? News don’t come often. And when they do come, they’re all rainbows and butterflies. The kind of journalism I do is forbidden, but why?

The natural laws of this world: people forget. We all know this. Everyone has a memory span, something that is dependent on our lifespan.

For the sake of a longer memory span, people make life style changes. Oh, doesn’t that make this world more perfect? People live longer, people remember longer.

It is not a law, but is strongly encouraged, to follow the Routine Cards the Government issues. I wonder if that is indeed beneficial to society, or just another gimmick to make this world work.

It is an actual law to see the doctor when you feel sick.

Not sure why that sounds fishy. Healthcare is free, though.

Does the government really control where we live? How do they know who to place us with in the same household?

They call themselves enforcers. I was tortured, even though they know I won’t remember.

Finally, they threw me back into this cell at Bacon Street they call my home, they thought I fell asleep, they thought I won’t remember.

But I will stay awake to write.

It was the last day of this memory span and they finally caught me. But the room is still safe, my home is still safe. There’s still a lot to be investigated, but there’s new progress every memory span. Remember to keep track, document, and stay hidden.

Their watch will keep growing tighter.

The map is tattooed on my chest. This note has to stay hidden.

Is someone watching me?

Jeunory – Architecture

5 February, 2065

The ability to forget, isn’t that what people wished for?

Doubt.

John took a deep breath and finally decided to explore the rest of the space before settling down to piece together what was going on.

The space he was in wasn’t big. It was enough for a bed, a computer desk, a mini fridge, a standing mirror and enough room to pace around. The walls were thickly covered with erratically placed notes and journal entries that John didn’t understand. The room was meek, the air heavy. There were no windows, only something that seemed to be once a skylight replaced the ceiling, but it was covered and seemingly well hidden. Only a wee, warm light bulb illuminated the whole room.

There was a desk lamp too, only John didn’t bother to see if it worked. The desk had a desk top computer that seemed a little too old for this era, but John’s guts told him it must still be functioning well, especially since gadgets and tech were surprisingly long lasting. Well, at least they lasted longer than memory spans. Some pens sprawled across the table and papers overspilled from the drawers John decided to explore later.

Right outside the room was a tiny square space, just enough room for one person. Maybe two people, if they stood close enough. There wasn’t much choices to choose where you can go. Directly in front of the room was a bathroom, turning right from the room was a staircase that lead upwards. Racks filled the last wall of the square space.

John ventured into the bathroom. It wasn’t the cleanest, but at least it didn’t smell. There was a small, squeaky ventilation fan that let in some light. A lightbulb hung right off the wall. A sink, cabinet mirror, toilet bowl and shower. It was a rather regular bathroom.

There are no notes in here. John thought in relieve.

He also noticed that all the signs showed that he was living by himself. Not surprising for a small space like this. His thoughts drifted to the first note he saw and he wondered if he has a family.

His attention quickly snapped back as he surveyed the Routine Cards along the stairway. They were strangely different, but seemed to be deliberately placed in order. From the bottom of the staircase were cards that seemed to be the oldest, most yellowed and crumpled. The cards got newer and whiter as he ascended the staircase. All of them had different content and different routines, the only similarity being their assignment to the same name: John Dayers.

Except for one card, it was assigned to someone called Wendy Dayers.

Sister? Wife? Whoever she was, John had no clue, and wasn’t even sure if she was still in his life.

The staircase lead to a square metal door hatch. A paper that was attached wrote:

Coordinates and entry passcode tattooed on right forearm. A = 3.

He looked down his forearms and to his surprise, he easily deciphered the code.

With some difficulty, he turned to unlock the tightly locked hatch. It was for sure only unlock-able from the inside. John confirms that this place is a secret that is probably only meant for him.

He took a peek at the outside world and sunlight flooded his sight. He lived beyond a fence. Across the fence was a variety of buildings which all seemed pretty normal. Maybe… Just a bit too normal. It was a fine day in California, but it wasn’t the day John was going to go out, not just yet.

He stepped back into the room and heaved a sigh, wondering what went on with him when he last pasted a piece of journal on the wall.

Jeunory – Authority

17th May 2068

They call themselves enforcers. I was tortured, even though they know I won’t remember.

Finally, they threw me back into this cell at Bacon Street they call my home, they thought I fell asleep, they thought I won’t remember.

But I will stay awake to write.

 

It was the last day of this memory span and they finally caught me. But the room is still safe, my home is still safe. There’s still a lot to be investigated, but there’s new progress every memory span. Remember to keep track, document, and stay hidden.

Their watch will keep growing tighter.

The map is tattooed on my chest. This note has to stay hidden.

Forbidden.

John read the note stuck onto the mirror as he observed his appearance and traces his fingers along the scars on his shoulders and chest. He turned around to see his back. There were more scars, and underlying were tattoos that are too disfigured to understand. He only remember his own name, and the fact that in this world, citizen’s memories were limited by their memory spans. Was he a fugitive? Did he find out who these people were? What was he investigating? Where is Bacon Street?

He turned to look around the room once more. Attached on the wall was a map with read marks all over, and a red pin marked Bacon Street, along with a note that said:

They put civilians in apartments and houses, so we would wake up thinking that’s where we live. Right HERE is my home – map is tattooed on my chest.

There was a newer note that wrote:

There must be closer surveillance back at Bacon Street after I was caught. Go back once a day so they won’t be suspicious. Be wary of neighbours.

John steps back and glances upon the wall once more, noticing multiple mentions of a “red book”. He turned to the desk and sure enough, there was a hint of a red book, covered by scattered pieces of paper. He picks up the top piece, which read:

4dii

 

Jeurnory – Home

27 December, 2067

 

57 Bacon Street, Apartment 308, San Francisco, CA. Where you live.

John Matthew Dayers. Your full name.

28th September, 2032. Birthday.

Daisy Evans. Mother. American.

Levi Dayers. Father. American.

Wife?

 

Current Memory Span: 45 Days.

Revelation.

<insert image of Caucasian man looking at crumpled note>

As he took a deep breath and removed the entry from sight, John notices another piece of note, which seemed to be intentionally placed where he would see when he wakes up.

“You know how it works. Track memory span.” – The hasty writing demanded.

John sits up haggardly and surveyed the room as if he has never been there before. The room was dully lit and moody, and the air was rather thick. None of the wall paint was visible because the room was plastered with layers and layers of photographs and papers. And at the feet of the walls were almost incomprehensive piles of books and newspapers. None of these made sense to John.

investigationboard2-1

He finally stood up and he picks up the stack of newspaper left on the desk.

The headlines read:

5 January, 2050

An Interview with Cobalt Lynch by John Matthew Dayers.

He glanced at the clock on the desk.

6 January, 2070; 9.02am

“Ah, fuck.” John murmured to himself.

John understood that he was a journalist, but nothing more. It was only the beginning of a new day, but he was already exhausted by the beginning of the new memory span. He found a calendar on the desk and carefully noted on 6th January,

“New memory span start”.