Gone
A man with amnesia can't remember how to operate the machine that will save the world.
STORY
He looked at the withered post-it note affixed to the center of a refrigerator door. Written on it were two scribbled words, “Anterograde amnesia,” and one name with a single question.
“Herb, who am I?” he read aloud. His voice echoed from each empty wall until it dissipated into an empty corner.
A small obelisk sitting as the centerpiece on the dining table, the size of a pocket-sized book, came to life with rings of light illuminating their way to the top. Once they reached the tip, a voice that sounded familiar, yet was clearly not at the same time, responded.
“We are Herb Inkwell. You created the items that occupy the remaining space next to me, on this table.”
Herb groaned as he sank his thumb and ring finger into the recesses of his temples. He massaged them gently, assessing the information and leaving a pair of indentations near the front of his head. He shifted his attention from the post-it to the obelisk.
“I’m Herb Inkwell… You’re Herb Inkwell too?”
“I’m your collective consciousness in storage,” the obelisk said.
Herb circled the table, one arm crossed his chest, while the other hand was used to prop up his chin as he contemplated the pragmatic approach of how or why his collective consciousness was in storage of any kind.
“Why is my consciousness in storage and why are you using it?”
“There was an incident that left you with anterograde amnesia. Since you frequently forget, your consciousness was transferred.”
Herb shook his head in disbelief. “That’s wild. You say, I made these?” His fingers grazed the surface of an electronic contraption with a few wires exposed beyond the casing that was supposed to conceal them. “What are they? What do they do?”
The obelisk lit up with a collection of rings moving from the base to the top. “We call these the Molecular Arrangement & Nano-Templating Intervention System, or MANTIS. MANTIS allows us to shape the atoms within molecules to alter the fundamental particles of existence.”
“Simple English—my head hurts.”
“The buttons allow you to change the shape and structure of any biological entity. You can alter it at an individual cellular level, up to the sum of its entirety.” Obelisk Herb paused. “In short, you’ve created a biological transformer.”
“You’re saying—We are saying that we can create dog, cat, giraffe, and bear amalgamations, including plants? That would unleash a global hysteria—including conspiracies about what is organic versus manufactured to spec.”
Obelisk Herb took a moment to process the query and then convened a meeting to determine how the needs of Herb Inkwell could be met.
“Yes.”
“Why would we—I make this?”
“You make these to prevent the destruction of our world.”
“How?”
“Your first invention was stolen. That’s what MANTIS was created to stop.”
Herb pulled out a chair from under the dining table and took a seat. He placed his elbows on his knees and his cheeks were pressed against his palms; he tried to maintain even breathing but it wasn’t enough to slow down his thoughts.
His right foot began to tap like a metronome that was increasing in pace. When his taps could not physically get faster, he stopped in an abrupt manner with a fluttering in his left eyelid and asked, “Why did I make the first thing?”
“The first device was created to enable customization of CRISPR data. The first trials were a success. We changed the characteristics and traits in mice in real time—not in vitro, not splicing, no stem cells. That device could flip on and off any atom and shift its positioning.”
Herb took one of the devices in hand, raised it to eye level and rotated it. “And this one is supposed to do what, again?”
“A good contrast would be, when would-be parents want to remove certain negative traits from a child during the embryonic growth cycle—the first device would allow fine tuning down to the length of its eyelashes. This device takes any organic matter and modifies the shape of its atoms at a precise location or across the whole body.”
Herb put the device down and turned it so it no longer pointed in his direction. “What happens to those molecules?”
“It’s best not to talk about it,” Obelisk Herb said.
Herb slid his chair back, stood up and scratched the back of his neck. “Who uses these things and how does that counter creating a well designed offspring?”
“There is an agency. You’ll find their card in your coat pocket.”
Herb patted down his pant pockets, then his coat pockets, only finding lint and a receipt for delivery pizza. He unwrapped the piece of paper, hoping that some detail might help him figure things out. The ink was fading, so he reached in his inner coat pocket to retrieve his glasses, when his fingertips grazed against the edge of a business card.
With his glasses on and new found card in hand, Herb held the card under the brightest place in his kitchen—the refrigerator light. The chilled air wrapped in baking soda and expired takeout food lingered in his nose enough to force a sneeze.
He was able to view the contents of the card after pushing the other items to the back of a near-empty shelf. It was a solid black card with fancy typeface and a satin finish under the embossed lettering. Herb flipped the card to the backside and saw a phone number. He patted his pockets in search of a phone.
“Hey, Herb? Do we have a phone?”
The obelisk came to life once more, “Yes. We do have a phone and yours is in the charging station beside your nightstand.”
“We? You have a phone too?”
“My apologies, I have phone capabilities built-in.”
Herb turned and walked out of the kitchen, through the hallway, around the corner and up the stairs. When he got to the top of the stairs, he was met with four rooms. Two on each side of the second floor landing. He turned right and headed for the first room on his left.
“Huh? I don’t remember my name, but I somehow remember something I don’t even recognize?” He attributed this innate knowledge of his house as muscle memory for routine things that you do without thinking. Except, now that he was thinking about it, his stomach gurgled uneasiness.
Inside the bedroom, there was a nightstand, just as Obelisk Herb had mentioned. He found his phone, a watch and a slim wallet. His phone was locked, requiring a standard password instead of biometrics. He tried to focus on other things while his fingers tapped away at the keyboard, raising alerts of incorrect passwords—muscle memory did not work this time. He tossed the phone onto the well made bed. He flipped through his wallet, hoping something would jog his memory. There were a few photos with people he didn’t recognize. Were these his family? Aunt and mothers? Cousins or nieces and nephews? His head began to hurt.
He sat at the edge of the bed, hoping enough of his body remained on the bed in case he passed out from the momentary vertigo he was experiencing. The feeling washed over him and left him leaning forward, looking at the carpet fibers between his feet. He blinked several times until the tiniest carpet fibers were in focus.
His fingers were fiddling with something. It was the card from downstairs. Herb held it in view and focused on it once more. Nothing about it rang a bell—at least not until the cell phone buzzed.
From the lock screen he could see that this wasn’t a random call. It was the number on the mysterious card. His thumb hovered over the green answer icon and on the third ring, he answered, “Hello?”
A few clicks could be heard, maybe people joining the conversation or maybe buttons being pressed. There were shuffling sounds, like cloth or hair over a microphone–maybe an earpiece.
“Is it ready?” A muffled voice crackled.
“Who is this?” Herb asked.
“We don’t have time, less than thirty minutes to be exact. Is the MANTIS ready?” There was an urgency and commanding presence in this voice that made Herb feel uncomfortable. He tossed the card to the floor and began to press a clenched fist into his stomach.
“Yeah—Yeah it’s ready. What now?”
“We will send someone. Ten minutes tops.” The call was disconnected.
Herb took a shuddering breath, pressing his fist into his stomach to force the nausea down. The grounding pain was enough to help him regain focus and return to the kitchen to ask himself—Obelisk Herb—some questions.
“Do any of these work? Someone is coming in a few minutes.” Herb picked up both devices and shook them to listen for some rattles or any signs of incompleteness. They may have been identical inside, but their exteriors showed physical deviations, indicating a beta version and a release version. Herb’s impatience got the better of him. “Nevermind, just tell me how to turn it on and where to point it.”
With the operating instructions revealed, Herb held one unit that would not power on. It seemed charged, but there was no indication it was operational. He let it fall to the floor as he picked up the second unit and initiated the power-up sequence. This time something happened.
Small lights along the side of the unit began to blink, mostly green but one orange. This unit felt heavier in his hand than the first one.
“What do these lights mean and how come one is orange?”
The obelisk sent a pattern of rings from bottom to top as it was calculating its response. “The lights are hardware test results. Everything seemed to pass.”
“Not the orange one—what’s that about?” He had set the unit down and let his fingers regain some feeling. He hadn’t realized that he was applying a tight grip round the piece. The sudden rush of blood to his fingertips caused pulsating that matched the beat of his heart.
“We don’t know, but you used to.”
“What does that mean?” He made quick note of the post-it on the fridge door. “Right—nevermind.” His face felt warm. “When do I forget all of this?” His shoulders slumped and he began to pace from the kitchen entrance to the fridge, checking his watch every few passes.
“You’re right. I don’t remember. Probably never will.” He picked up the unit with the orange light, held it firmly in his grip. Fingers from his other hand tapped their way across the row of buttons that ran across the top of the unit. They felt like they’d click if pressed hard enough, but his fingers only pressed before that threshold.
On a countertop, at the intersection of a windowed wall and one with a portrait of fruit, sat a potted plant. Herb walked over to the plant, and stroked a single petal from the flower. It was real, firm, and it gave a fragrant plume when he finished. He brought the device closer to the flower of the plant.
Four buttons that could click, two dials that had ten levels of adjustments—unlabeled, unknown.
He clicked the first button and the device emitted a tone. The plant began to tremble beneath the soil of the pot.
A second button and the petals of the flowers became erect, as if stretching towards unseen particles of sun. He turned a knob and the petals lunged towards him like tiny knives attracted to a magnet.
Another turn of the knob and the press of the second button caused Herb to step back. His eyes went wide and his jaw fell agape. The flower had changed, its form no longer like the others. Petals became tiny appendages—but not fingers of humans or animals—this was over twenty tiny appendages that encircled the center pistil and moved in unison like the tentacles of a squid as it propels itself through the water.
Herb’s hands began to tremble. He tossed the device onto the table. “What the hell is this thing?”
The plant’s fingers were billowing, reaching, and then taking a neighboring flower and mangling the petals that resembled its former self. Bits of ravaged flower petals fell to the countertop.
There was a knock at the door that was heavy, determined, and immediate. Herb looked at his watch and then at the plant, whose flower fingers tore into the remaining flowers, petal by petal. “Shit.”
“They’re at the door. The plant isn’t a plant anymore. What should I do?” He picked up the obelisk and shook it as if it was an old novelty fortune telling item.
The obelisk lit once more, “We don’t know.”
Herb’s anger welled up and burst through. “Bullshit. I don’t know. You should know. We made this god damned thing. Why?”
Obelisk Herb remained indifferent. “We built the first device to change the lives of the physically ill, the downtrodden with deformities and disease. That is why you created the first device.”
The knocking at the door became pounding and reverberated through the walls into the kitchen.
“Where is the first device?”
“It is being used to build a genetic mutation of militarized humans turned beasts.”
“Is that why the agency wants this unit? To build their own mutant army?”
“We’ve seen what happens when used on a plant. It destabilizes molecules and forcibly reorganizes the atoms within.”
“Okay, but that was a normal plant. What does that have to do with modified humans? Is this supposed to turn them back to normal?”
“A genetic puddle of soup.”
Herb picked up the beta model from the table, tossed it to the floor and stomped on it until pieces flew across different directions of the kitchen. He grasped the functional unit and backed himself into a corner just as the front door was kicked open.
“What do we do?” Herb asked.
The obelisk didn’t respond. Heavy footsteps made their way into the kitchen and men in protective bodysuits quickly filled the area.
One man stepped forward, hand outstretched. “Give me the device.” His tone lifeless and bureaucratic.
“What will you do with it?” Herb asked
“Set things right.”
Another man walked to the counter where the plant with a flower of fingers continued to mangle the other flowers. He didn’t seem surprised. Herb clutched the device to his chest, but the man easily overpowered him, wrenching it from his trembling grip before pressing two buttons and turning a second knob. The plant morphed itself many times, it echoed the evolution of its species and the variants that were its ancestry.
When the man let go of the button, the only thing in the pot was a pool of liquid that spilled over the rim of the pot and dribbled onto the countertop, absorbing the remnants of normal petals that were shredded earlier.
Herb watched in terror. “Who are you people?”
The first man stood in front of Herb with his arms crossed, acting as a bodyguard for the other man who held the device.
“You won’t remember any of this.”
“Then fucking tell me what the hell is going on!” Herb demanded. His heart beat so fast that he felt the pressure in his head as he balled his fists.
“Your formula to help humanity level up had one flaw in the equation.”
“Huh?”
“You forgot to factor how fucked up we are as a species.”
🎧 Companion Audio: Themes & Hidden Threads
This story is fully human‑written. The audio below is an optional AI‑generated commentary created after the story — a kind of literary companion that highlights themes, symbolism, and patterns readers might enjoy exploring.
Author’s Note
This story originated from the writing prompt at Reedsy.com. Prompt: “Center your story around a character who has lost their ability to create, write, or remember.”
The Story Behind the Story
I chose this prompt because I liked the idea of loss in all areas: creating, writing, and remembering.
Using my standard formula of someone + somewhere + doing something, I came up with Herb in his kitchen trying to remember who he is.
The premise was a partial call back to the movie Memento, which is where the post it notes motif came from.
Character driven story - I needed a companion to help the guy who can’t remember anything, so I created a obelisk, Amazon Alexa-like assistant with a twist—-it contained all of Herb’s consciousness.
I open the story with Herb looking at this cryptic post-it note. When saying the contents aloud triggers Obelisk Herb, human Herb has someone to converse with. At this stage, I hadn’t thought of anything beyond this setting.
There is this dynamic of language to indicate that the obelisk is an extension of Herb by using the royal “we” and then shifting the tone when the distinction kicks in with the use of you and me. There was no strategy to this. It felt like a natural progression of an amnesiac reading a note aloud and hearing himself respond with the use of “we.”
Great, now I have a mechanism of backstory and worldbuilding—-A guy and his talking Obelisk. The 1980s television series, Knight Rider, fit the vibe of what I wanted with a guy trying to figure out his life, paired with an intelligence greater than his.
The kitchen gives the story a place that acts as a grounding device. It is familiar enough for Herb to exist in, but ordinary in how Herb navigates in the space. I want the reader to be in that kitchen and to feel what Herb is feeling. I still don’t have a plot. I’m just listening to the two characters interact with each other.
As their conversation builds, I realized I needed there to be an urgency, mystery, and a sense of dread. That’s when the two devices appeared on the table. This was initially supposed to be a stack of books and Herb was supposed to be a writer—-but I felt that it was too cliche trying to be an amnesiacs version of The Shining by Stephen King.
With the objects being devices that Herb doesn’t remember making, it raises the stakes. But the story still doesn’t have a plot. I’m still working that out by having the two tell me what those machines do.
The obelisk Herb provides the backstory, but now I need a structural element that will shift the tone and introduce urgency. The business card was that ticket. We needed to see Herb in other familiar places within his house. This allows me to get him out of the back-and-forth conversation for some action related tension and character exploration.
The only familiarity Herb has with his room is superficial furniture arrangement, everything else was a missing memory. Having the phone ring while Herb is trying to regroup is supposed to be a jarring and pivotal moment. Dialogue had to be concise while also being revealing. I think we now have enough to trigger a plot.
Having the story world time constraint of ten minutes add a sense of urgency for the reader as well. The pacing needs to be short, punchy, and still true to character. This is where I forego minute details and zoom out for quick pacing.
Herb’s frustration and the pressure of someone arriving in 10 minutes forces Herb to seek meaningful discoveries. He picks up the second device and in a moment of crisis, he takes aim at a plant and nearly poops himself.
Making the plant go from this innocent thing created by nature and then modified by man makes several metaphorical allusions. It’s the arrival from the agency that sets up the final reveal.
Herb might not know how to use the device, but these men from the agency know what they’re doing. This sets up the idea that Herb’s memory resets often enough that when these guys arrive, they already know how to use the device before Herb becomes a blank slate. This begs the question: Who or what is the agency?
At this point, I’m running low on word count, so I need to end this early enough to leave unused some words for revisions.
The tension of the agents converging on Herb needed a breaking point. I went with procedural “Just another day at the office” vibe. This is why one agent snatched the device and neutralized the plant, while knowing how to operate the device.
I could have let them do more back and forth, but I felt that the story was told. I used the final exchange to leave the philosophical implications.
Not only is the first device gone, but now the second device along with Herb’s memory is on the list of things no longer there. I let the agent have the last word to allow the final beat, be the point of reflection for Herb and the reader.
I think this piece accomplished my goal: grounding with a focused look at Herb, while exploring the deeper societal issues that answers the proverbial, “Why can’t we have nice things?” Perhaps this is why Utopia is fictional as well.
That’s the story behind the story.
Thanks for joining me at the Peripheral Edge,
-Daniel