Disclaimer: I have no claim to Artemis Fowl or any of the series' characters, who belong to Eoin Colfer, so don't sue me. I also don't own the plot, which comes from EC. Only the POV is mine.
Summary: Takes place during the mindwipe in Fowl Manor in the Eternity Code. Artemis reflects during his last moments of remembrance and wonders if he is crazy afterwards.
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I Don't Want To Forget
By T. Axile
He is sitting on a chair surrounded by a multitude of whirling and whistling gadgets accompanied by winking, colorful flashes of light. He is calm, perhaps too calm, for what he is about to face, but then his pride demands that iron control be maintained at all times; he is a Fowl, and he would keep intact the dignity his ancestors were renowned for.
When the technicians scurrying about him are finished, the fairy comes up to him. Small and fine-boned she is, as delicate as a bird. Red hair falls in straight, military neatness around the angular, pointed face, dominated by green eyes that…holds a flicker. Of regret, satisfaction, triumph? He cannot tell. Behind her, a giant screen holds an image of a centaur and a red-faced fairy bulkier in build than the female. Prompted occasionally by the unlikely duo, she asks him questions, her voice layered with mesmer. He answers, but he does not tell the truth, or at least, not the whole truth as he knows it. From behind the protection of the lenses he smiles, snug in the knowledge that he has outsmarted them yet again.
All has been made ready; the dwarf has been given his last copy of the Book, including copies of his diary, with instructions to return when he is least expected; the centaur is about to start off the operation that will drain his memories and render him comatose. He had expected to feel confident and uncaring, knowing as he does that the dwarf will find him, but he has not counted on panic. It rises in his throat, an unwelcome sensation, sending his heart beating fast. He does not want to forget; not the wish, not all the good times he has shared with the diminutive race, not his newfound respect, not his morality.
Somewhere his conscience whispers to him in a voice that sounds irksomely like his bodyguard's sister that perhaps it would be better for the fairies for him to gracefully let himself forget and leave them to dwell below ground in peace. But he refuses; he will not succumb. He does not want to have nothing left to cherish. Not when he has found so much in the last two years.
He makes a last plea for release. This time it is no lie; he really, sincerely wants them to reconsider, to give him a chance, but it goes ignored. The red-haired fairy looks at him, and her eyes shine before she slams her helmet shut and catapults out of the window. He feels vaguely disappointed; he had hoped that she would stay and watch until the bitter end, and at the same time he is strangely touched by the fact that she is unable to stand there and observe his precious hoard of memories being erased one by one.
The procedure is starting; he can feel the buzzing in his ears intensify. The bodyguard and his sister have already slumped unconscious in their chairs. He races back in time to the kidnapping, the Christmas he had shared with his mother, made possible because of the wish his victim had granted; the presence of his father as always a testament to what the fairies and done for him and he for them; the thrill of beating a challenge as he had been held prisoner within the most well-guarded building in Chicago and knew that he could win.
It seems impossible that he can forget. These memories had been woven so intricately into the tapestry of his life, so deeply integrated into who he is that he wonders what the unraveling will do to his being.
He can't see now. Blackness dances on the periphery of his vision, closing in. There is a roar in his ears, but oddly muffled and distant. He is afraid, and curses his weakness; but all the same there is a lurking fear in his mind that he will never remember, that the dwarf will never come back and set his memories free.
He holds on tightly to the memories he has come to love so much, clutches on with a death grip even as they are torn from him. But it is useless, he knows, and his awareness is fading fast under the onslaught of the machine. He does not want to let go in the hope that when he wakes up in the morning he will remember; something, a figment, a sparkle.
(I don't want to forget) he cries out, a small voice in the chaos in his mind, then he plunges into the darkness and is gone.
(Don't do it. Please.)
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Sunlight filters in through the windows, illuminating dust motes gone golden dancing in the air and falling upon the eyelids of the sleeping boy. He stirs, his eyes fluttering, as the bright light rouses him from slumber. Waking, he stares contentedly at the ceiling, his lips quirking into a smile as he hears his parents arguing good-naturedly from somewhere downstairs. For the first time in his short life he feels at peace with himself, his mind devoid of the plans that chases frenetically around, cogs and wheels turning and scheming, letting him sink into restful sleep. He is in no hurry to get up. It is after all a weekend, and he has no need to go to school…
Just as quickly, the smile vanishes, to be replaced by a frown. He sits up, putting a hand to his head, which feels heavy and lethargic. Something elusive strains at the borders of remembrance, like a half-forgotten, vivid dream. He feels confusion; what is happening to him? Where are his schemes, his plotting? He chastises himself for falling in standards. Normally he would have fallen asleep nursing a few well-thought out plans for restoring the family fortune and come morning those plots would have been etched out in intricate detail in his mind, never mind the fact that it would him cost him a good night's sleep. Scowling, he finds that his computer, never far from his side, and activates it. The feeling of the cool, expensive metal humming beneath his palms reassures him like nothing else can. He breathes in the musky, sweet scent of the money as he logs on and checks his various scamming programs at work. They seem unusually successful; his bank account has never looked this good. Aurum est potestas. How true indeed.
The old family motto invariably brings his mind back to his father. Unconsciously his frown deepens. From young he has always admired his father, his drive for gold, his determination. But now he has lost that ambition to weak and sentimental feelings. He remembers the strange emotions he has experienced upon waking; perhaps it is contagious. He must make sure that he never falls prey to such vulnerabilities once again.He tucks the notebook beneath one arm and hops out of bed, barely pausing to tidy the bed before heading to his desk. His eyes glitter with new resolve and steely hardness that belies his youthful features.
It is a new day for dastardly plans to take shape, and Artemis Fowl the Second is back.………………………………………………………………………………………………
Author's Ending Note: Bad fairies. VERY BAD FAIRIES!!! How could you do that to our dear Arty? How COULD YOU?!!! Now he's a bad guy again, no thanks to you. And Dr. Argon, stay away from me unless you want your tonsils wrapped up somewhere around the region of your brain. (Turns to readers) If any of you happen to know what the Council's e-mail address is, or whatever sophisticated whatchamacallit they use for communication underground, please tell me so I can inform them what evil gits they are. Anyway, thanks to readers for reading the story. And if neutralgal, RaevenDawn and depressionisanillusion happen to be reading this, 'Gone Even As I Remember You' was meant to be a one-shot originally, but I'll try to add some more stuff when I think of it.
Ta!
T. Axile signing off
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Extra Author"s Note: 30/12/04- Thanks to Liz-Beth37 for your thorough corrections. I'm sorry for all the errors, but I don't own EC and what I read was a library copy, so later on I had nothing to refer to when I wrote this. You were right; it is Chicago, not LA, and I always wondered how come no one pointed this one out when I checked it later. Hee, I was too lazy to change it. I hope the new version is better, but I suspect I fumbled up on the revised ending.
AND...Omega Z...what made you think I was a MISTER anyway?
Okay, that was pointless. The thing is, thanks too to everyone who reviewed. Cyberspace, yeah, I'll update Soulfelt once I get inspiration. Actually I had 5 reviews for it, but then my co-writer turned angsty and deleted it, that's why I had 0 reviews.Well, bye, guys, and Happy New Year.