Remember Me (ONC2020) ✔

Chapter 1

Runan's dirt-crusted fingers gripped a clay cup as he waited on the tea shop patio for his sister, Messita. However, the dirt street before him, flanked by two and three-storey dwellings with bakers, tailors, and shoemakers on the ground floor, was still void of her presence. If she arrived with a grin that lit up her honey eyes, they could pay the irritable land-owners this month. But, should she clinging to her partner, Ju'rah's side and take her time, they'd have a tough month ahead. In that case, Runan really shouldn't have ordered this coffee. His 'only five-minute' wait had turned into an hour, still with no sign of Messita.   

As hushed voices carried through the street, Runan perked up.  A group of creators his sister collaborated with, led by Ju'rah, returned from whatever trendy adventure the Upper-Caldozzans craved. When the last person came into view, Runan's neck stiffened, and he scratched at it, unable to cure the unease. Why wasn't Messita with Ju'rah? The two shared a brain when it came to the memory creation business. Maybe she was picking up a few things at the market with her earnings.

Ju'rah glanced at Runan for a split second then leaned down to speak to a beautiful woman with dark make-up running down her pale cheeks. Ju'rah's shoulders slumped, and he split from the group. As the creator trudged to the cafe without his regular winsome smile, Runan tensed.

"Afternoon, Ru," Ju'rah's tone was flatter than the Lower-Caldozzan plains. "How are the fields?"

"It'll be months before the crops recover from the pests, even with the recent decline in the bugs." 

All morning, Runan had fertilized and irrigated with rations Messita had generously purchased this month. Without her, he'd have to sell their parents' farmhouse and find a new job. His skin itched like it was covered in meroke fly bites.  Honourable professions were becoming relics in Lower-Caldozza.

If an honest man couldn't support a farm, how did the Upper-Caldozzans plan to eat? Would they replay memories of other people eating to simulate their meals? Hundreds of thousands of people would keel over with empty bellies in both cities, though Upper-Caldozza would fare worse. They always had.

As Ju'rah nodded, he could hardly look Runan in the eye. "That's rough. I'm here if you need anything."

"Thanks. Messita's been my saviour the past few months."

The smooth, symmetrical facial features so many elite women paid money to swoon over sagged. Ju'rah fumbled through his pockets, pulling out a cigarette. Despite both growing up in families who contributed to the Caldozzan food bowl, the creator's hands were covered in creams and lotions instead of remnants of the land.

"I have news of Messita," Ju'rah's voice trembled just like his hands.

"Has an Upper-Caldozzan bribed enough judges to claim her as their memory maker?"

Many Upper-Caldozzans had purchased memories of his sister performing high-adrenaline stunts in clothing that would make their parents roll in their dusty graves. One day, she aspired to be an exclusive creator for a wealthy client, acting as a puppet who'd live through her client's every desire and take on their dangers for financial security. Freelancing came with risks and monetary losses that made a permanent employer more desirable, or so Messita said. Runan shuddered at both unnatural options.

After studying the dusty floorboards, Ju'rah fished out a lighter. "I wish, Ru. There was an accident."

Runan's heart thundered like deer hooves. "An accident?"

Was his sister hurt? It wasn't possible. That woman navigated a river like a salmon returning to spawn. Ju'rah's failed attempts to open the lighter and curses made Runan furrow his brow.