The Incident

A man wakes up with odd, foreign thoughts in his head, and the odd sense of hollowness in his memories.

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2. Names

Names.

Everything has one.

Everything has a purpose.

Everything has a goal.

So why don't I?

 

        He wasn't sure what the odd symbols moving around in his head were. They seemed to be moving in some organized order, and that was good. Some kind of order was good in him, so he kept it. He remembered the symbols and what they looked like, and how they sounded. They seemed to be associated with an object, every one of them. Some of them had no memory, so he guessed he'd have to find out what they'd mean.   There were all kinds of words, like joy, which seemed to stray far from sadness. Friend from foe, ignorance to knowledge, and insanity to sanity.  Some vague memories seemed to be in the back of the cluster of words each vying to get to their seemingly random destination. The memories seemed trivial, yet had an allure to them. Some were of the sea, Ishmael and Arronax, Poseidon and Neptune. Some were rhymes, simply silly, and not of any interest to him. After sifting through every memory, he finally found one that peaked his interest. Narcissus and Echo. Echo could only repeat what she was told, and Narcissus could only admire himself. The man wondered what his name could be. Would it have a meaning? Would it have any connection to his personality? When he was thinking of this, he came to the moment of realization. He realized that he was becoming and aspect of him memory, despite it being very minor. He was repeating, restating, mirroring. Echoing. That was it. His name was found. He was simply an Echo.

That's all he was.

He had no purpose.

Just an echo.

Just a

Name.

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