Day 19,988: 21Nov24
400 words, 2 minute read. With Claude Sonnet (zero-shot)
Time is the cruelest currency, and Justin Reeves was about to go bankrupt. He stood in the sterile courtroom, hands trembling as Judge Martinez delivered the verdict that would determine how he'd spend—or lose—the remainder of his life.
"Given the severity of your crime," the judge intoned, her voice echoing off marble walls, "but acknowledging the current prison crisis, you are presented with two options." She adjusted her glasses, the fluorescent lights catching the lenses. "Option one: execution by lethal injection. Option two: twenty-five years under Mnemosure treatment."
Justin's attorney leaned over. "The memory suppressant is new, but it's humane. You won't remember a day of your sentence."
"Won't remember?" Justin's voice cracked. "I'll just... cease to exist?"
"You'll exist," his attorney whispered. "Just... on pause. Like dreamless sleep. And you'll only serve fifteen years instead of twenty-five. The state saves money, you save time."
Justin thought of the needle that would stop his heart, then of the needle that would stop his mind. Both were a kind of death, but one offered resurrection.
"I choose Mnemosure," he said, his voice barely a whisper.
---
Fifteen years later, in the vast Midwest Memory Detention Center, Technical Officer Pete Larson was more interested in his phone than his monitors. "These guys are basically houseplants," he told his colleague. "Why do we even need to check the feeds?"
"Because if something goes wrong, it's our necks," Sarah replied, not looking up from her crossword puzzle. "Speaking of plants, what's a seven-letter word for 'memory loss'?"
"Amnesia," Pete muttered, scrolling through his social media feed.
Neither noticed the blinking red light on Pod 2187, where Justin's catheter had slipped loose during a routine position adjustment.
Consciousness returned like a tide, slow then overwhelming. Justin's eyes opened to a white room, antiseptic and small. A window showed identical pods stretching into infinity, each containing a silent figure. The horror of understanding crashed over him—fifteen years of his life, gone in what felt like a blink.
His hands found the loose catheter, the precious drip of forgetfulness pooled on the floor. In that moment, Justin understood the true nature of his punishment: not the loss of memory, but this single moment of clarity.
Through his tears, he reinserted the catheter.