and her memories fade away—
but they won't forget her name.
disappearance
Miku finds her memories slipping from her, and they flicker away, shouting and laughing and mocking her. She wonders why they are running from her. This shouldn't be happening. She would cry, but she doesn't remember how too.
Its very, very scary.
Her knees scrape against the cold ground when she collapses, face against the floor, wondering how to walk. The faint taste of something lingers in her mouth, sort of like a... le... lee... Miku can't remember. The memory is already gone. Everything is draining away from her, how to yawn and smile and laugh. She wonders where her friends are, from the lemon-haired twins and her best, best friend Luka. And then she forgets about them. Its funny, she thinks, how everything important to me is gone already. Is everything fake in my life?
One memory stays of someone though, lingers longer then the others. Its the man at the computer, clicking things on the screen. She remembers eating ice cream with him, singing with him, looking at the sky with him.
She wonders why he would do this. She forgets how to wonder.
And then Miku is at peace. Because she cannot remember how to forget, or how to be scared, or anything. She forgets how to feel. Miku feels sort of like a empty shell, but she's comfortable that way, sprawled out on the ground, eyes fading into glassy seaglass shards. And she can't see colors anymore. What are colors? Why is she here? She doesn't know how to ask questions.
Miku forgets how to breathe. She doesn't remember who she is anymore. And the only sound is the one outside, the sound of a man typing at a computer and a voice chiming:
process complete... process complete... process complete...
memories deleted.
(miku wonders in the starless night if she still remembers how to sing.
but when she tries to open her mouth, there's no voice to use.
maybe there never was.)