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Because, really, who wouldn’t trust a guy who looked like he’d never done anything wrong except maybe be too perky.
It used to be a hair salon, with open spaces and comfortable chairs along mirrored walls; but now it was a Memory Removal Clinic, which Charlie guessed wasn’t particularly very different. A hair salon helped people to look better by removing something old and worn out; a Memory Removal Clinic helped people to feel better by removing something old and worn out. The only difference was the difference between hair, and memory.
Charlie pushed the thick meta door open,
tough barely noticeable and only for a moment.
He shouldn’t have even started tinking about these sort of things.
“Memory Disposal Unit: Alpha detected,” sputtered a painfully electronified voice that emanated from the machine’s speaker.
this particular clinic had only a thirty-three percent failure rate,
Still, he couldn’t ignore the nagging at the back of his head that he’d thought that very thought many times before.
Charlie stood, staring at the thick metal door in front of him.
He was a spunky young guy, in his khaki’s and baby blue polo,
Because, really, who wouldn’t trust a guy who looked like he’d never done anything wrong except maybe be too perky.
Charlie pushed the thick meta door open,
“She’s obviously a slut and a whore, I can’t believe I call her my best friend.”
They were entirely unaware that their memories wouldn’t simply be deleted – it’s impossible to delete a memory, a memory is matter, and matter can’t simply disappear, it has to go somewhere – but transferred through near-invisible cables into the mind of a tiny boy sitting strapped to a chair in the back room.
Gender:
Points: 370
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