As promised, there will be a lot more prompted writings. Without further ado,
Prompt: Memory Lane
I sit, undisturbed, among the thousands of millions of memories I watch over restlessly. When I was commissioned to watch over Memory Lane, I thought that I’d be watching over something from the past. Maybe like the really important things in a countries life would be recorded.
Not the Earth’s entire memory collection.
When I showed up for work on the first day, my supervisor shoved a contract in my face that I now regret signing without reading. All contracts signed in this realm are binding forever unless you can find an un-doer. And un-doers have been extremely rare since the magic extermination squad (M.E.S) hunted them to the brink of extinction.
I would later lean that the contract I’d signed entailed that I be stuck in Memory Lane until a new watcher of the Lane was signed. Upon inquiry, I found out that I was the only person stupid enough to have this job in 2 millennium, and the previous watcher of the Lane had wandered some where and couldn’t be found to be released. I was also tasked with finding him while when I had free time.
Turns out no one is all to concerned about us watchers.
Some would say I’m the most God-like figure in existence; the knowledge of ages at my beck and call. But all these memories are pretty mundane when I half to walk for years to reach the really good memories.
You see, the Lane is arranged in chronological order; getting longer by the second. If I turn around I can see the Lane expanding ever so slightly as the day goes on. Growing brick by brick. To get to the really revealing secrets about this world or the one before it, I’d have to walk for years and years. I could rent a car, sure, but I doubt I could convince anyone in the office to tell me just how the last watcher of Lane had managed to pull that one off.
The last Watcher had been pretty badass according to the files. He got a car in the Lane, broke into some of the memories and switched them around for shits and giggle (though on one remembers when or which memories he switched), removed his tracker and got completely lost in the Lane. But I suppose two millennium is enough time for anyone to master their job so thoroughly.
Memory Lane is a boring place, a straight shot further than the eyes can see, stretching all the way back to when there was no watcher of the Lane, and we’ve been here a damn long time. The Lane is not what I expected either, the sides of the street are crammed with houses and apartment complexes that stretch way onto the sky. In all of them, there are windows the showcase a particular memory.
I have no idea how they’re arranged aside from the most to least recent part, the buildings seem to have their own ideas about what exactly “organized’ is. Every structure has it’s own personality, some short and black with few melancholy memories inside, like a gentle, gracious nod to whoever or whatever was inside. Others tall and colourful with many seemingly unrelated memories inside; a compilation of happy times independent of any sort of order.
At the “end” of every day, a door close to me, wherever I am, will open up, and the front desk to company will be inside of it. I then have 5 minutes to decide if I want to go home that night to if I want to stay in the Lane until the following night. One time, I missed the door and I thought I was trapped in the Lane forever and had extreme anxiety the next day, I almost missed the next one because I was in and out of consciousness the anxiety had gotten so bad. Not doing that again.
That was the day I discovered my first white house.
White houses are completely blank, inside and out. Everything is white; no windows, one single room with an empty, white picture frame on the wall opposite from the door. Those houses are few and far in between, but they scare me. I think that these houses are hiding something very important from us watchers.
And I’m going to figure out just what that is.
But first, I have to find the asshole who suggested me for this job
And like the piece of shit I am, I will leave this at that.
This is me,