[Short Story] A genie gave me immortality but...
Not many people visits the pub during the day, but there I was. Sitting alone in the corner, accompanied only by a Margarita, while the owner was watching a football match replay. There were three other patrons, a middle aged man who was watching the match with the pub owner and a pair of couple in their 20s.
My hands were flipping through a small notepad, my only possession left after the fire that burned down my house yesterday. Written in bold, cursive strokes on the front page were the words: "When you need help remembering." Which seem aptly written for a moment like now.
The fire department had chided me for hoarding so many books in a tight space, creating a natural fire hazard that is just waiting to burn. But what choice do I have? The books meant a lot to me, that I remember. That they are records of what I have lived through, my joys and sorrows. My entire life. I know that I have to write, just last week I wrote an entry of recent happenings in my life.
But what exactly happened again? And why do I keep penning my memories down? Perhaps this notepad lying before me had an answer. I flipped to the second page.
"Your name is Edward Thornton," the words begin, in a smaller font now, still in the same cursive font. I wondered if I was the one who wrote these words.
"And you are an immortal."
The notepad had only 5 written pages in total, but it was enough to tell me who I was. A guy who thought it would be smart to ask a genie for immortal life thousands of years ago, only to be inflicted by a memory curse, where I would be unable to remember things for longer than a month.
The notepad ends with the line explaining the reason I write, which is to help me remember everything that has happened. But now they are gone, along with thousands of years worth of memories. How am I supposed to move on from here?
I buried my face in my hands and let out a rather loud, dejected sigh.
"Having problems, young man?" came a voice next to me. I turned to face the pub owner, who must have finished watching his match.
I shifted my attention back to my half finished drink. "Even I tell you, you wouldn't believe me."
The owner looked at me quizzically, pondered for a moment, before seating himself opposite me. "Try me," he challenged.
Having nothing to lose, I told him everything that I could remember. About the house fire. About how I just learned that I was an immortal. About how I cannot remember for more than a month, and how I needed to write them all down in books to remember. About how I lost all memories in one night. And how afraid I am now to move forward, to continue living. How am I supposed continue recording my memories down now?
The pub owner nodded at my every word, as if he understood the feelings that I'm going through. When I finally stopped, he leaned closer to me, looked me straight in the eye and asked, "Have you ever heard of blogging or cloud storage?"
Writing prompt source: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5bnhul/wp_you_thought_asking_that_genie_for_immortality/