Memento Note Novels & Stories

The low notes from his bass curled around the room, a gentle counterpoint to the chaos on the desk. A drawing of a stage with fireworks. Archive. A letter predicting a plane crash. Legal. A package with a bracelet and a note: Wear this and remember me. Ignore. "That’s not even my size," Celeste said, holding it up before dropping it in the ignore pile. “Do people think we get paid for memory storage?” A letter addressed to Mark asking if he was single. Celeste paused just long enough to feel amusement, then slid it into ignore with a note: For your ego. She nudged the envelope toward Mark, who groaned theatrically.

No official stamp, no foundation logo, and personal notes, of course. Men like him always keep their own record of the damage. I reach for the top notebook first. He puts one hand over it. “Read carefully,” he says. “You may not like what memory looks like when someone writes it down without kindness.” Aurora steps in before I can. “Move your hand.” He does. Good. I open the first notebook. The first page is enough to make my skin crawl. Subject B – intake retention notes. Not Nadia, not a child, Subject B. I keep reading anyway.

The cardboard cover had torn halfway down the front. “My old notes.” Asher flipped open the ripped cover. Inside, were page after page of handwritten notes in Asher’s meticulous handwriting. “I struggled with the memorization at first too. It’s much easier when you break it down like this.” He pointed to a sentence. The first letter of each word matched with a different part of the body. “Mnemonic devices are incredibly helpful,” Asher said. “I can help you with it sometime. But this will get you started.”

Not as a formal addition to a case file. As a margin note. In the first year. In the first case file. Where the first reader of the archive will find it. She looked at what she had written. She wrote: The note will say: this is what it is all for. Name it. Before you read further, name what you think this is all for. Then read. Then come back and see if your name was right. She looked at it. She thought: that is a good margin note. She thought: that is the kind of margin note that will be found by the right reader.

Khloe watched him curiously. “Take this,”Arthur handed her a notebook and a pen. “What is this for?” She asked, checking out the book. “I want you to write down what you remember. It might not make any sense, might be unclear but everything you get to recall, endeavour to write it all down and soon after they'll all merge and make connections reviving your memory,” he explained to her. “That's a good idea. Why haven't I thought of this?” She questioned herself. “And if you need someone to talk to. I am always here,” he said, giving her a warm smile. She returned the smile and thanked him.

Hungry for revenge to those who did me wrong, to those who sexually abused me, and to those who treated me like a pig. I remember my dream that I killed someone. It is not a dream but I did kill someone and he is Gin; one of those men who abused me. My dream is not a dream but a memory too that I killed someone. Now that I remember why I killed him; I don't feel any regret. I suddenly remembered about the black notebook. I know I just hid it somewhere and I want to see the names that I wrote there and how many were left. I immediately stood up to find the notebook. I put the doll down on my bed, I heard my phone ringing but I ignored it. Finding the black notebook is more important than the

Her sharp eyes were watching me, gauging my reaction. “You use that as an alert,” I breathed. A faint, sad smile touched her lips. “For important emails. From the one or two people left who matter. It was Eleanor’s idea. A way to keep a piece of the melody in the air, she said. A tiny act of quiet rebellion.” She pushed the evidence bag toward me. “You recognized it. That’s your key. The memory is the melody itself. The passphrase is the first six notes, translated into solfège. Do-re-mi…”

Zoey stared at the note. There was no return address. She turned it over and saw an address written on the back. The address looked familiar but she wasn’t sure. Then she looked at the key. It was clearly a key to a storage unit. That’s it! The address was a storage unit.

6 pm. It was an address. Maybe for a date. Maybe where he lived. I wasn't sure. But the thought of him being so sure that I'd show up was a turn-on. It's like he knew I was yearning for him. He could read minds, if not, he could read mine. I remembered there was another note he stuffed between my breasts. I quickly pulled it out and silently read it. It read: Hezekiah Mumba. 25th June. 34 years old.

Walked into the ocean. He had known Aurora’s mother died when she was young. He knew it was a tragedy. But Aurora had never talked about it. She had never told him about the note. "Is it true?" Liam asked gently. Aurora looked at the window. At the gray river outside. "I don't know," she whispered. "I remember the beach. I remember the sketchbook. But the note... I blocked it out. I don't remember a note." She looked back at him, her eyes filling with tears.