Amy Cross - Persona

Damn it, I sound like a petulant child, but I will not obey the woman who did all of these things to me.

She sighs, before making a note on her chart. “I was warned that you have a tendency to be stubborn,” she says after a moment. “Your most recent clinical observation found that you can be extremely stuck in your ways, to the extent that you’ll sometimes pursue the wrong option purely to prove a point, even though you know you’re making a mistake. It’s hard to understand how a supposedly intelligent young woman might choose the path of irrationality over the path of logic.”

“Shows what you know,” I reply darkly.

“You think I’m wrong about you?”

I can’t help smiling.

“You think you’re special?”

I shake my head.

“What about strong? Do you think you’re strong?”

I don’t reply, while still maintaining eye contact with her. I refuse to look away.

“Do you know what I want to talk about today, Asher?” she continues with a faint, smug smile. “I want to talk about what happens when we send people to war. I want to talk about the human mind, and how it copes with those horrors.”

“Then go find someone who’ll listen to you,” I reply.

“You know we have a program that helps ease the burden of the soldier’s life, Asher.”

“You wipe people’s memories.”

“That’s right, and—”

“You won’t wipe mine.”

She pauses, eying me with a hint of amusement. “Won’t we?”

“I can’t stop you sending me to fight,” I continue, “but I can promise you that I’ll remember every moment. You can do your worst when I get back, but my memories are mine and I won’t let you take them from me.”

Her smile grows.

“You’ll see,” I tell her. “You won’t be able to make me forget.”

“Yes, well…” She makes another note on his clipboard. “That’s what everyone says, Asher, but the process is extremely effective.”

“Not on me.”

“You’ll thank us when the time comes,” she continues. “Who wants to remember such awful things? When you return from the battlefield, you’ll be begging us to help you forget.”

I shake my head.

“Oh, you will,” she adds, fixing me with a firm stare. “And I will make sure that I’m personally present to watch as the procedure is administered. I will make sure, Asher, that I am the person you beg.”

“I hate her!” I shout, slamming my fist into the locker door. “You have no idea how close I came to just losing it and…”

I pause for a moment, trying to think of all the inventive ways I could have beaten Doctor Phillips into submission.

“I just wanted to wipe that smug grin off her face!” I hiss.

“But you didn’t ,” Mads points out, putting her hands on my shoulders from behind. “Asher, you did way better than most people. I heard Phillips actually got attacked by a recruit last year. Someone actually tried to throttle her before security ran in and stopped it all. I spoke to a guard who was there, and she said Phillips squealed like a baby. Apparently she was on the floor, crying out for help.”

Turning to her, I can’t help finding that story slightly amusing. “Did that really happen, or are you just trying to make me feel better?”

She smiles as she nods. “Really happened. So I was told, anyway.” She turns and looks over at Harold as he hauls his kit-bag onto his shoulder. “You heard about that, right?”

“Who do you think stitched the bitch’s lip up?” he replies with a smile, heading to the door. “Such a shame I’d run out of anesthetic that day. See you guys later. I have to talk to a man about dog.”

“I don’t get it,” I continue, turning to Mads once Harold has left. “Why can’t the mind-wipe be optional? Why does it have to be enforced? If they take our memories of the war, then how do we even know who we are?”

“They don’t want anyone to know who we’re fighting,” she replies. “They tell us they want to take away our bad memories, but really they just want to keep the identity of our enemy under wraps. I suppose it’s a type of control. This vast, all-consuming war has been going on for so long now, and still no-one outside the government knows who we’re fighting. Who knows? Maybe they’re right to do it that way.”

“We’re not children,” I point out, once again struggling to keep my temper. “We should be told! Whatever happens out there, I can handle it!”

“We’ll find out when we go to fight,” he continues. “We’ll see the enemy. We’ll even kill a load of them, hopefully. And then, if we survive, we’ll be forced to forget.”

I shake my head. “Not me.”

“You’ll resist?”

“Damn straight. I’ve started practicing techniques that’ll help me to hold onto all my memories.”

“Asher,” she continues cautiously, “I don’t mean to worry you, but you might not have time. There’s a rumor going round that we’ll get sent off to fight sooner than planned, maybe even within the next couple of weeks. If that happens—”

“I’ll be ready,” I tell her, even though the news is a shock. “It’s what I’ve been training for.”

“But if they wipe our memories when we get back—”

“They can’t actually do that,” I reply, interrupting her. “Not completely, anyway. I talked to a guy who works in the psych division and he told me it’s a hit-and-miss process. They might be able to make it so we don’t remember specific incidents during the war, but they can’t make us forget everything.”

She pauses, before smiling again. “You can be very confident sometimes. Almost arrogant.”

“I won’t forget the important things,” I tell her. “I’ve been teaching myself recall techniques so that I can bypass any attempt to wipe my mind. That guy I spoke to? I got him blind drunk and then I persuaded him to give me some tips. I know what to do, and I’ve been practicing.”

“And you don’t think they know you’ve been doing that? They monitor everything that happens in the barracks.”

“I don’t care. I’m strong enough.”

She stares at me for a moment. “You know what?” she says finally. “I truly believe that you believe what you’re saying. Whether you’re right or not, I don’t have a clue, but if anyone can beat a memory-wipe, I think it’s you so… Good luck.” She pauses. “Now come on,” she adds, taking a step back. “If we’re really getting shipped out soon, we need to make the most of our time here at base, whether we end up remembering it or not. How about we lose our memories the old-fashioned way with a trip to the bar?”

“I’ll catch up,” I tell her. “I just have a few things to do first.”

“Gonna sit around brooding?”

I shake my head.

“Sometimes I worry about you, Asher,” she continues. “You need to learn to let go and just operate on instinct. I’ve seen during training programs how you always pause to over-think everything. You take so long to make big decisions. Sometimes you’ve just got to do what feels right.”

“I’ll catch up,” I tell her again. “I promise.”

“Don’t take too long,” she replies, heading to the door. “I’ll have a drink waiting for you!”

Once she’s gone, I get to work. Taking the small plastic kit from a nearby cupboard, I open the lid and slip out a needle, along with a vial of black ink. Turning away from the mirror, I look over my shoulder as I dip the needle into the ink and get ready for the inevitable flashes of pain. I figure this is important, in case I need to jog my memory after the war. After all, if they take my memories – even the bad ones – I won’t really be myself anymore. The oncoming war is going to be a part of me. Slowly, carefully, I start tattooing a word into my flesh, a word that means more to me than any other in the world.