The buttons pulsed.
LEAVEREMAIN
Simple.
Binary.
But the weight behind them was crushing.
I stepped forward.
Felt the floor hum under me, as if alive. Watching. Waiting.
My hand hovered over LEAVE.
It trembled.
I whispered, "What happens if I carry it all?"
The walls answered this time.
Not with sound.
With visions.
Every version of me—dozens, maybe hundreds—projected on the surrounding surfaces. Each one showed the moment of collapse. The moment where he—I—chose to forget.
Some screamed as they pressed REMAIN.
Some were calm.
Some begged for death.
But none of them chose LEAVE.
Not one.
Not until now.
A new image appeared:
Me.
On the outside.
Standing beneath the night sky.
Eyes open wide. Tears streaming down my face.
But alive.
Whole.
Real.
Carrying it all.
But walking forward anyway.
"Is it real?" I asked.
The walls flickered.
And this time, the answer came from behind me.
A voice I hadn't heard in years.
My brother.
"It can be."
I turned.
He stood in the hallway.
The version of him from before the accident.
Smiling. Playful.
He held a paper airplane in his hand.
The one we made the day before everything changed.
"You'll remember everything. Even us. Even the pain."
I choked on the lump in my throat.
"But I'll break."
"Only if you don't heal. But to heal, you have to stop hiding."
He tossed the paper plane toward me.
It floated.
Hung in the air.
Then disintegrated.
I dropped to my knees.
Cried.
Not the kind of cry that breaks.
The kind that clears.
I stood.
Wiped my eyes.
Took a deep breath.
And pressed…
LEAVE
There was no light.
No flash.
No transition.
Just weight.
Like sandbags dropped on my shoulders.
A thousand lives poured into me.
Every scream.Every regret.Every forgotten truth.Every version of me who had to carry the pain for just a moment before passing it off to the next.
It was unbearable.
But I bore it.
The apartment began to shake.
Not violently.
Just… releasing.
As if it had been holding its breath for centuries.
Walls cracked.
Paint peeled.
Floorboards sighed.
From the closet, I heard whispering—thousands of voices saying the same thing in unison:
"Thank you."
And then—
Silence.
The front door appeared again.
Fully intact.
I reached for the knob.
Paused.
Turned back one last time.
The apartment was collapsing now.
Not with fire.
Not with destruction.
Just letting go.
The mirror cracked.
The lights dimmed.
And from every shadow, old versions of me stepped out.
Some waved.
Some cried.
Some saluted.
And then they vanished.
Released.
I opened the door.
Outside.
Fresh air.
Sunlight.
Cold on my skin.
The city buzzed beyond the street.
Cars. Laughter. A world I hadn't really touched in what felt like eternity.
I stepped out.
Turned back.
The building was still there.
But older.
Dusty.
The windows now boarded up.
No one inside.
No life.
No contract.
Just a shell.
I walked.
Down the street.
Felt gravity in my chest—but it was real now. Honest.
Each step felt like reclaiming something I'd once given away.
I crossed a park.
Saw a bench.
Sat.
Watched a little girl fly a kite.
Her dad behind her, laughing.
That laugh… it reminded me of my father.
It hit me so hard I almost cried again.
But I smiled instead.
Because I remembered.
All of it.
My phone buzzed.
A message.
I hadn't looked at it in weeks—months?
It was from someone I hadn't talked to since the funeral.
A simple line:
"You okay, Elias?"
I stared at it.
Typed back:
"Not yet. But I will be."
Then I looked up at the sky.
Breathed in.
Held it.
Felt everything inside me stretch, ache, settle.
I didn't need to forget anymore.
I was the memory carrier now.