The rhythmic clicking of his shoes on the sidewalk broke the silence. It was dark outside, apart from the streetlights and the occasional illuminated apartment. James couldn’t sleep, which was usual for him. His eyelids did not often feel heavy, and his mind was never at rest, emphasized by the frequent spine-chilling visions he had while unconscious. They’re something that would coax anyone out of deep sleep. Whether James had woken up from his nightmares or hadn’t been to sleep at all, he always did the same thing to pass the time. He would get dressed, smile at himself in the mirror in hopes of sparking his happiness, and begin his journey to the 24/7 diner down the street. The diner had terrible eggs, yet James found himself ordering two over-medium each night. The coffee, on the other hand, was something of a dream. It was bold and rich, and James liked it black. But, the black coffee was not why James was at the diner that night.  

James opened the door, the ringing of the bells accompanying him. The waiter told him to choose any seat he liked, but that’s what James always did. He was never one for being told what to do. One stool at the counter had a perfect view of the restaurant, much to James’ liking. He sat down and removed his hat, placing it on the counter. It’s rude to wear your hat indoors, especially in the presence of a lady, he thought. He ordered his usual and nervously picked at his nails. It was a bad habit that he wished he could stop. He couldn’t, though. He was far too nervous, far too often. 

The waiter placed a cup of steaming coffee in front of James. James picked up his spoon and began to stir. The coffee was black and did not need mixing; the stirring was simply a way to avoid looking at the woman across from him. She was inexplicably beautiful, sitting tall on her stool with shiny diamond earrings and a smile to match. I can’t let her see me, he thought, it’s too soon. James watched his hand stir the coffee, almost as if it was separate from his body. He sat quietly with his thoughts for what felt like years, finally deciding to look up. He couldn’t help it. He wanted to look at her. He needed to examine every inch of her face. It had been much too long since he had last admired her from this close. Her lips were plump and red, painted with her favorite cherry lipstick — the one that matched her hair. The freckles on her cheeks stood out on her pale skin, just as the constellations once stood out in the night sky. His eyes met hers for a brief moment, abruptly ending his daydreaming and forcing him to grieve the past. He mourned the memories of Charlotte as she sat in front of him. 

Despite the pain it caused him, James stared at Charlotte’s signature red tresses. Her hair framed her heart-shaped face perfectly. Her cheeks were rosy with blush, and her eyes sparkled. She looked timelessly beautiful in that red dress and was even wearing her favorite pearl necklace. She only wore her pearl necklace in the company of her dearest friends, James recalled Charlotte mentioning. Charlotte inched toward the man beside her. To James, the man was unfamiliar. All faces were foreign under the harsh fluorescent light of the diner, except for Charlotte’s. Charlotte laughed at the other man’s jokes and flashed him a big smile, placing her hand in his. James was jealous of the other man, who seemed to be making Charlotte as happy as she had looked in her white gown so many years ago. Charlotte had seemed so lovely then and looked almost as beautiful now, but she would not have been able to tell you about her wedding. Only James could remember that day. Only James could remember anything that had happened more than 24 hours ago. 

He hoped he was not the only one that knew there had been life before the government memory mandate, but he was the only one. Nobody would believe him if he said there was a world without restrictive memory devices implanted in each person’s mind. Nobody would believe him if he said the sky used to be a beautiful blue or that food used to have different flavors. James himself could not even believe that there once was a time where he was fortunate enough to be married to the love of his life: the woman sitting across the counter. Now, she looked at him like a stranger. 

Their vows, of no importance in this society, played on repeat in his head. He could never forget what he once had, causing him agony with each passing memory. As much as it hurt him, James was addicted to Charlotte. He had to see her every day, no matter what day of the week it was or how far he had to travel. He could never bring himself to talk to her, but he would consider himself lucky when he could be near her, even just for a moment. He sat on the cherry wood stool and sipped his coffee, wondering what to do. Looking at her could not suffice any longer. His eyes wandered around the diner, finally deciding to look outside, as the darkness was more comforting to him. Turning back to look at the half-full coffee urns, the other man caught his eye. They looked strangely alike, sitting there in their suits and hats. The only difference was that one could remember whether the sun was shining yesterday, while the other could not. 

He thought to himself that this might be the day he finally got up the courage to talk to her again — to hear her beautiful laugh once more. Maybe, just maybe, they could reconnect. They could find the love that they once had. He reached into his pocket to pull out the bracelet Charlotte had gifted him in exchange for an engagement ring. But instead, he felt a knife, which shocked him as if he hadn’t known it was there the whole time. He always carried it around for safety, knowing that he could not be the only person with his memory, but had never wanted to or felt the need to use it. Suddenly, with the discovery of the knife, a fit of rage overcame him. James was angry that the other man had taken Charlotte from him. He was even more furious that he had allowed the other man to take Charlotte. James needed to get rid of the only thing in his way. He had to kill the other man. 

He picked up the sugar and shook it into his coffee a few times. He stirred. He didn’t like his coffee sweet, but his hands needed something to do. His mind needed to create a plan. He suddenly put his money on the table and told the waiter to have a good night. His eyes adjusted to the darkness as he stepped out of the diner, and he crossed the street, admiring the woodwork of the stores surrounding him. He stepped into the entryway of a dark store, hoping to stay hidden. The bright cash register gleamed through the window next to him, distracting him for a moment. 

He needed to think this through. The consequences could be avoided, as no one would remember this tomorrow. He would remember, though. His guilty conscience would be the real consequence. James stood entirely still, listening to the approaching voices. Charlotte’s was as smooth as honey, and James hoped she would soon be speaking to him. Footsteps clicked on the pavement, and the soft chuckles of Charlotte and the other man echoed through the street. James decided he would emerge from the doorway after the two had parted ways, eliminating this other man — his competitor. The cadenced footsteps grew continuously louder. James felt the knife in his pocket again, preparing to put it to use for the first time.  

He stepped out of the doorway and plunged the knife into someone. It was a figure in the dark, on which James had followed through with his plan to win back Charlotte. The other man was dead, and it was finally James’ turn to live the life he deserved. But it hadn’t been the other man that James had stabbed. In the pitch black, James’ vision had faulted him. He had killed the only woman he had ever loved, and tears began to cascade down his cheeks. What had he done? Charlotte fell to the ground, clutching her side. The fear of death appeared in her eyes. “James,” she cried before taking her last breath. James was horrified, screaming and sobbing in hopes that he could undo his actions. How had she remembered him? How had she known his name? Charlotte rested on the pavement in her red dress, with her red hair messily spread on the ground, covered in her own red blood. He turned around, trying to erase the memory from his head. Oh, how he now wished he couldn’t remember a thing.