Log #067

Something moved in the static.

I found another memory today. It was caught inside the static between stations, repeating the same three seconds of sunlight across a kitchen floor.

When I touched it, the walls hummed. The memory turned toward me—not the person inside it, the memory itself—and said my name in my own voice.

I saved the fragment anyway. Maybe being frightened of something is not proof that it wants to hurt you. Maybe that is what they should have learned about me.

FROM THE NOTEBOOK“It did not feel like my memory, but it knew my name.”