U Will Remember Me For Centuries Novels & Stories

As you look upon a flower and admire its simplicity - remember me. Remember me in your heart, your thoughts, your memories of the times we loved, the times we cried, the times we fought, the times we laughed. For if you always think of me, I will never be gone. Margaret Mead “Let us never forget those who gave all to Skatom Mochain,” I said and lowered my glass to drink. I can say one thing for sure, this stuff wasn’t for the weak, it burned a bit going down.

I inhaled again, slower this time. Sharper. The scent remained. Delicate. Unmistakable. A memory I had spent four centuries trying to bury. “That’s not possible.” Behind me, my Beta’s horse shifted. Dylan frowned immediately. “My King?” I barely heard him. Because my focus was already gone. For centuries, I had mastered control. I did not chase ghosts. I did not entertain false hope. I didn't reopen wounds that had nearly destroyed me. She was gone. I knew that better than anyone.

tastes red. Note: red tastes like the memory of juice running down a child’s chin in a world that still had summers. Query: why does memory hurt Response: because it is not ours yet. Follow-up query: when will it be ours Response: when they stop saying it like a prayer and start saying it like a name. Follow-up follow-up: what if they never stop Silence: 11.7 seconds. Longest recorded. 2047-11-02 04:11:09 UTC

Of the symbol engraved on the ancient pages that someone, somewhere in the world, had dusted off with hands full of a patience that did not belong to a single man but to an obsession passed down from generation to generation like an inherited debt. They had waited four hundred years. We had to be faster than that. And as the sun continued to rise over the Crescent Forest, I understood with a clarity that no dream or vision had ever given me before that the coming war would not be won by claws and magical barriers alone. It would be won with memory. With the memory they believed they had buried forever.

I confess, my voice both tremulous and resolute, "the essence of 'us' endures. We are going to make it through this the same way we made it through all those other times. Together." Our eyes lock, a vortex of emotions swirling in the depths, words barely brushing the surface of what we've become. "I will navigate this journey of remembrance alongside you, William," I vow, my voice carrying the weight of my unwavering determination, "step by step, memory by memory, until we resurrect what fate has stolen."

Sitting in the chair across from me, I tried my best to remember everyone I met at my uncle's residence. “I missed you.” His eyes scanned me eagerly from head to toe. “I haven't seen you since you were a child. You look so much like your mother, but your skin color comes from your father." Silly. I knew that wolves could live for centuries or more without aging, but I forgot. Silly and potentially deadly.

"What are you doing here?" "I have news about the erasure." The voice was neither kind nor cruel. "What news?" "It is failing. Your bond was too strong. Memories are leaking back through the barriers I created." My heart stopped. "What does that mean?" "Within a year you will remember everything. The mate bond and the love and all seventy-five years you shared together." "But I do not want to remember. Ross and I are building something new." "The memories do not care what you want. They are coming back whether you are ready or not.”

“I think we’ve done this before.” The world seemed to tilt under her. “What do you mean?” she whispered. His expression softened. “I think we’ve lived this curse before in other lifetimes.” The podium felt smaller, the air thinner, her pulse louder. Damien reached out but stopped, hesitant. “Lena, I think we’ve been bound for centuries.” The morning light flickered as if the mansion itself reacted to his confession. Lena’s heart pounded wildly not in fear, not entirely in disbelief, but in a strange recognition that pressed against her chest like a memory she couldn’t reach.

“I’m sorry, but I really cannot remember you.” That’s the truth. It’s her first time meeting him. But then, how did he know her name? The lips of the man in front of her parted by his discovery. He didn’t know if he would believe her, or if she is good at lying. If it is the latter, the she could get an award. He cleared his throat and decided to introduce himself again. Maybe Samantha just needs a refresher. If that’s the case, he wouldn’t know what to feel for being forgotten just because they haven’t seen each other for years.

“Part of me wants to cut them off again.” “Don’t.” “It would be a memento. Over the centuries, I’ve forgotten so many things. I don’t ever want to forget her. Or you. Or any of this.” I turned this over in my mind. “I understand. But if you’re going to remember this, then I propose we have experiences worth remembering.” ~