The Night without Memory
It was the night without memory. Across the town people celebrated this gift from God and did everything they wanted to and more. They let their basest desires control their actions. It was an orgy of self-indulgence.
In a small cafe, tucked away from those excesses, a man and a woman met.
She was well dressed; he wore grubby work clothes.
Her skin was pale and smooth; his grizzled and bronzed by the sun.
She had a wedding ring, his fingers were bare.
He smiled at her, she grinned like a girl.
He took her hand, she squeezed his gently.
She pulled him forward and he wrapped his arms around her.
He kissed her, she kissed him back.
They talked about their memories, about how their lives had changed, and especially about what could have been.
As the night went on they stayed close to each other, dancing slowly to their old songs. It was as if the years had disappeared and they both felt young again.
They held each other closer and made plans, swore that they could leave the lives they had and run away together. He said they would have no money but they would be richer than ever because they had each other.
Then the bells started to ring, the warning that the night would soon be over. In seconds the noise from the party outside was noticeably lighter.
They kissed a final time, made each other promise to meet again. But as they walked away from each other, down the emptying streets, the feelings and the memories of the night were already starting to fade. By Sunrise, it would be gone.
That was the gift and the curse. The night would be erased.
It was the night without memory. There would be no new tomorrow.