In spite of the pain, we cling to the memory. -Anon
I have been staring at the oceans of paperwork, jumbled relics, and miscellaneous personal items that make up what remains of the Archive after.. the last few months.
The ones no one remembers.
The Quiet was fed an entire timeline's worth of.. everything.
People. Places. Items. Memories. Events.
Do you know what it's like to remember things that now never existed? What it's like to carry love and hate in your heart for phantoms?
The higher-ups told me this was a new assignment.
To cope. To process. To heal.
By transcribing what I can of this mess, and when I can handle it, writing what I remember.
It's difficult to keep a grasp on reality when you have contact with so many parallels.
What would save one world, would have you locked in an asylum in the next. A fate I can vouch for as being hell, thanks to Amanda and her nightmarish life.
The one of us that was tortured the most.
How do you decide who you are when you've been so many people? I keep being told "Start over. Be someone new. Live a good, happy retired life. You deserve it."
I don't want to retire.
I don't want to dishonor what we've all been fighting for for so long. Just because one timeline found it's conclusion.. does not mean the others are safe.
So... Reluctantly.. I begin typing the old stories.
The ones that would get me killed if I transcribed them perfectly.
I'll be changing names, omitting dates, and rearranging the details. Same pieces, different image.
Maybe you can figure out what you're looking at.
Maybe you'll just enjoy the entertaining stories.
I suppose it's all up for interpretation.
But.. remember. Nothing is what it seems.
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