Free With and Without Class by David Fleming Page A

Amnesia here, with OODLES of fantastic possibilities for your explore—new capabilities surely in store. The first thing you’ll want to do is—”
    â€œShut-up,” Alex said.
    â€œOK boss.”
    â€œFast Amnesia set reference to current year. Delete temporary, May 10th, 3:30 AM through May 21st, 4:15 PM.”
    â€œYou said, delete—”
    â€œDo it,” Alex demanded. Fast Amnesia buzzed and he felt as if he was sweating inside of a thick blanket and he counted the throbbing in his brain before he momentarily misplaced his understanding of the concept of numbers and multiplication while still realizing the purpose of the table and the paper.
    He leaned forward, setting Fast Amnesia in his lap. It seemed like it had worked. He hadn’t expected the throbbing. It must have worked. He couldn’t sit there all day. He needed to start writing something. Something longer. Maybe a novella. Something blatantly good that no editor could question. Something with a surprise ending! Alex leaned toward the Post-It and the triangle-shaped paper.
    He’d never written fiction that long. He glanced over some paragraphs. It tried to be exciting but it was cliché, forced. It lacked his insight, his smoothness. But the note was in his handwriting. He had purchased Fast Amnesia today. Fast Amnesia helped people forget things. He didn’t remember writing this novella. But the note was in his handwriting. He must have written it.
    Alex set the manuscript on the table and stood.
    Outside the translucent wall, a train snaked through its twisting tube.
    He paced. Something wasn’t right. He was a great writer. He was going to be rich and famous and have a dwelling on the lower edge of the pyramid so he could see the swirling Pacific and the mainland. He was going to vacation at California Island and attend expeditions to the Smog Ruins .
    The familiarity of the story bothered him. At the end, the hero said, “Here’s seeing your face one last time, Carry.” Who did this guy think he was—some Twentieth Century movie hero? Alex walked to the table, snatched the manuscript and turned to page seventy-two.
    It wasn’t exactly the same. However, main elements corresponded: the wartime setting, the idea of destiny, two men in love with the same woman and the woman leaving the hero on an airplane.
    He stormed to a bronze statue of a couple embracing, pulling it from its float zone and weighing it in his hand. Too heavy. He darted to a pair of athletic shoes on the shag and flung a shoe, “IT’S CASABLANCA! ” The shoe bounced off the translucent-green wall.
    Disabled, Noise Cancellation Unit Seven , Lenny telepathed.
    â€œWhat?” The whizzing of trains increased. “How?”
    He grabbed his manuscript off the table, tearing it into pieces, cramming it down the garbage disposal. He rushed to snatch-up Fast Amnesia. He could erase the memory of ever writing it.
    â€œFast Amnesia, delete permanent, May 10th, 3:30 AM through present.”
    â€œUh… boss, did you say—”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDelete permanent, eleven full days?”
    â€œYes, do it.”
    â€œOK, boss. Fast Amnesia here… oodles…”—it buzzed in monotones, overlaid with static: “Error 305… Please return to OEM indicated by…”
    Alex felt cold. Something within his skull tugged his eyes inward, attacking the small things like Uncle Stanley’s gruff voice, the blistering sunburn, blue cake frosting and kissing those feminine lips—the Pacific breeze, the rapture of his first time. Years of experience. Memories slipped as he shivered.
    â€œInput registry code to reset,” Fast Amnesia requested of him.
    His shoulders and knees shook as his stomach muscles cramped and he dropped to his knees.
    â€œInput registry code.”
    Fast Amnesia fell