The Forgetting Road

I wake up to the sun shining bright in my eyes, disoriented and confused. I don’t know where I am. There’s an endless road stretching before me, and I’m sitting on a boulder beside it, its rough surface digging into my palms. There is nothing but the road, a few rocks, and a dull sky above it. I suppose I’m lost, but I don’t remember ever going on a trip. I take a deep breath, calm my racing heart, and decide to get up and start walking.

After what feels like half an hour, the landscape still hasn’t changed—no trees, no animals, just the unsettling emptiness. The sound of my footsteps against the pavement is the only noise, which makes the silence even heavier. The eerie silence starts to get to me, and panic rises.

I start running, the pavement beneath my feet a blur, each step hitting harder than the last. I run until my lungs burn and I can barely breathe, desperately trying to recall who I am. My family, my home—everything feels like a distant dream, fading away.

For a second, I think I hear the laughter of a little boy—but it vanishes as quickly as it came.

As I lean against a boulder to catch my breath, I finally notice a backpack slung over my shoulder. I quickly unfasten it and pull out a worn notebook. Flipping to the first page, I find a note scrawled in a hurried hand:

Your name is Eleanor Kingston.

You have been walking longer than you think.

Do NOT trust the road.

I am in utter confusion. The only thing I can think to do is walk, so I do.

After a few miles, I realize that I am wearing a backpack. I don’t know how I hadn’t noticed it before. Inside it, I find a notebook. I flip to the first page and find a note that reads:

Your name is Eleanor.

You have been walking longer than you think.

Do NOT trust the road.

I feel the strangest feeling, like I remember remembering this, like a thought slipping just out of reach.

I decide to write down the message on a nearby stone, its rough surface reminding me of a man’s stubble after he hasn’t shaved in a few days. The memory is comforting, and I realize it's the first thing I have remembered about where I came from.

In a little while, I repeat the process of finding my notebook, reading it, and remembering.

A horrible thought shivers through me: The road is stealing my memories. The more I walk, the more I forget.

A brief image flashes in my mind—a man’s face, a child’s hand—but it disappears before I can grasp it.

I write down my verdict on a stone, so I can’t forget it.

It turns out that I do forget it. Days pass. Memories fade.

Until one day, I find a stone with an inscription in the same handwriting as my notebook. It says:

You’ve already tried turning back.

It doesn’t work.

A shiver runs down my spine as I wonder how many things I’ve done while walking that I have already forgotten.

As I continue on my path, I pass more carvings with similar messages, some neat, others jagged, like they were written in a panic. I keep walking because the only alternative is to turn around, and my past self has already warned me against that.

Eventually, I spot something unusual that disrupts the pattern of the road lined with stones. I begin to run towards it, hoping it will lead me to freedom. But as I get closer, my stomach drops.

It’s a skeleton, clutching a knife engraved with the initials E.K.—the notebook indicated that my name is Elealnor Kingston. The knife is dulled and worn down from use, as if it had been used to carve into stone.

My hand unconsciously moves to my pocket, where I pull out a knife identical to the one in the skeleton's grasp.

I then notice a stone placed next to the remains. This one reads:

This is what happens when you forget yourself.

I can’t help myself; I vomit everywhere, even though I haven’t eaten anything this whole time. I’m not sure if it’s the ominous message or the decaying body that triggered it, but I remain bent over, retching for the next few minutes.

As I continue on my journey, the memory of the skeleton fades. That is, until I come across the next one. And then another. I find them every so often, each time with a haunting sense of déjà vu.

Eventually, I realize that these bodies represent my past selves. I become subconsciously aware that they are appearing less frequently, which means I’m making progress on this road—further than I usually have.

Days passed; then weeks. The bodies became less frequent, then stopped showing up altogether; not that I remembered there being bodies at all, but this meant that I had come further than I had ever made it before.

I just kept on walking. I hadn’t felt tired at all, even though I hadn't slept at all. I hadn’t felt hungry at all, even though I hadn’t eaten at all. I hadn’t had to pee, even though I had never relieved myself. It was like I was in a trance—walking continuously.

The pattern remained until now.

I had seen a large stone archway in the distance, and I had run to it. Now I stand at the base, staring at the words engraved in the bottom of it.

If you are reading this, you forgot again.

You built the road.

I remember:

My husband's unshaved face.

My son's little giggle.

My husband and I were dedicated scientists, passionate about our work and each other.

That all changed one fateful evening when a drunk driving accident killed both my husband and our young son. The loss left me in a void, battling an unrelenting depression that turned my world upside-down.

In my grief, I immersed myself in research, desperate to create something meaningful.

After many years, I finally completed my invention: a machine designed to erase painful memories, promising people a chance at a brighter future.

Initially, it seemed like a miracle, allowing people to escape their pain. However, as I entered, I realized my grave mistake. The machine didn’t just erase my bad memories; it trapped me in endless loops, stealing my identity and leaving me lost.

I had built a prison instead of a sanctuary.

Now, I reach for my stone and raise it above my head, my hands shaking. I will destroy the arch that leads back to the real world. I cannot continue living like this. Even if it means sacrificing my own life, it would be better than enduring this endless existence.

As I stand in front of the archway, a rush of memories hits me all at once, feeling like a wave that's about to pull me under. I start to remember the faces of the people I loved, the laughter we shared, and the moments that used to make me happy. Each memory feels like an anchor, bringing me back to my world before the road.

With all my strength, I bring the stone crashing down on the archway, and in that moment… everything disappears.