Memory

Memory:

The new millenium; the olympic games; re-elections and landslides; births and deaths. All went by in a fit of focused attention. Sleep was foregone. Nothing mattered except the final goal. And after a few false starts, including a most notable instance where he was found 'swimming' in his neighbour's vegetable patch, it was ready. The most sophisticated artificial intelligence engine ever created, coupled with a neural link up device decades ahead of its time, and no-one would ever see it except him. Nor would they even suspect that such a 'machine' existed. Sitting at his desk, he let out a hiss of annoyance.

Even the mention of that word made him shudder. Nothing could be less apt a description. It fell far short of that mythical concept. After all, surely the attraction was to go backwards. What hope could possibly lie in the future? No, his could do nothing more than arrest time; damming the swiftly flowing river and then letting the walls burst, sending the waters rushing forth faster than ever. Yawning, he opened his book to the next chapter and reached for that inner switch, yanking it with the keen enthusiasm of an addict and felt the reassuring blackness swell over him.

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As everything blurred back into clarity, he glanced at the closed book for a reassurance he had long since ceased to require and then laced up his running shoes for another dose of blackness.

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Another Friday night at a trendy inner city bar and he was sitting next to an elegant creature dressed in flattering tones and curves. He gave it five minutes to see if anything original would come out of her lips and then reached gently for the switch. Nowadays, even the final throes were of little interest to him, and the discrete notches on the bedpost - a few on the right side as well for variety's sake - gave him the most satisfaction.

He wondered if she would sell the story. This close to the games, his profile was running hot on the press. There would probably be a few knowing grins at the track tomorrow. Smirking, he glanced at his watch and then ever conscious of his mortality, he clutched for sleep and was given it.

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They had gone out hard. It gave him no small satisfaction to see the beads of perspiration rolling down the Kenyan's face, past his treacherous mouth, which was only too well betraying what the exertion was costing him. On his left though, he could still see no sign of fatigue. That was how he liked it.

Ten kilometres on and he was still there, the two athletes running alone down the empty streets. The clipped, efficient stride showed no sign of strain and he had to admit some admiration.

Admiration became alarm as ever so gradually, the effort became greater and the neurons in his legs began to complain. His opponent saw his almost panicked glance and grinned, baring whitened teeth.

"Not now, not this time" he begged, but the temptation and pain was too great and when he could see again, the gold medal was being placed around his neck and the olive wreath on his head and his hand was being shaken by a wizened once-was and the anthem was being played over the applauding crowd and it was the greatest moment of his life.

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As he lay there dying, alone, notwithstanding the people clustered around him, whom he barely knew, with their teary faces and clinging hands, his life played back before him. An ironic smile crossed his lips as he watched himself building it.

He reached for the switch one last time..