I remember it well – the day I died. Well, you would wouldn’t you? I was eighty years old and surrounded by the family I’d loved for so long. I can see each tear rolling down their faces even now. They never believed it could happen of course, and I remember my youngest grand daughter playing with her handheld console right up until the end came. It’s funny how memory works isn’t it? When I remember the night I died I can picture her there and could probably describe exactly what she was wearing to you. I can see the console in her hands and even see the logo on the back, but I don’t remember what the logo is of. I guess it’s not important to me at that time which is funny because I remember how later they will be important to me, but by that moment I didn’t care about them enough to remember. I can even remember the day I lost interest in game consoles. I remember reading the specs of the upcoming machine and thinking that it sounded like too much work for me. I never ended up buying it, and I didn’t get another one after that. I can remember the last machine I did get clear as day yet, try as I might, I can’t remember the names of any of the games I will play on it. It’s funny what little details you forget and which ones you hold on to.
I often wonder if this is the same for other people whose memories work only one way. I really should ask someone yet I know that I never did because I’d remember it. Oh sorry, if you’re reading this then you haven’t learned yet. Through some aberration of my birth I have the benefit of two-way four dimensional experience matrices. In short, I can remember my future as well as my past. It’s not easy remembering your death you know and I should have found it especially hard to come to terms with, except I remembered how to deal with it as if it were something I’d been doing all my life. I simply remembered getting over it and I did. I remembered tragedies and comedies before they came and every single experience in between, yet as I remembered them I knew how I’d acted at the time and made sure to act the same way when they finally happened. Even these words are being written this way as I remember them. I’m not even sure what some of them mean as I’m only seven years old right now and while my memory can see events it can’t remember what I was thinking at the time. Still, I remember myself pulling out a dictionary and looking them up so that’s what I did, especially when I read the title I gave this as I thought it was spelled incorrectly but it turns out it is a word after all. It means learning by doing though what that has to do with my life story I have no idea.
It’s never been easy living this life, having to make sure that I always perform every action at the right time. I’ve never known what will happen if I stray from the path laid out before me so I’ve always been sure to keep to the plan. It’s been frustrating sometimes as I’ve missed out on things that my instinct was telling me I could have had, yet I stuck to the path. After all, for all I know the entire universe could fall apart if I step off the already beaten track. I could have asked for help yet I remember that I never did so I can’t, nor will I have anyone to talk to about it. I look forward at myself and wonder sometimes if that person is content living like this and if he ever has any of these doubts. Still, it’s not all bad. I’ve always been good at anything I try straight away, as I remember doing these things and being good at them. This book, which I’m writing right now will be published when I’m in my forties and I’ll make a fortune off it. Of course I have to publish it as science fiction rather than my memoirs but people lap it up, and “the format of the child writing it and remembering different parts of his life out of order” is praised by the critics. I must have liked that as I remember that line clearly in the newspaper, yet everything else on that page is blurred out when I try to remember it like the logo on the game console. That’s how my memory works, by the way. I enter each memory and can pan around the room like a camera, checking out other angles that get filled in by what I know (or not in some cases, as proven when I looked over someone’s shoulder at a newspaper I remembered not reading and found it was blank inside). It’s quite an easy life if you think about it, surrounded by events that are going to happen and preparing for them, acting a way you know will work out fine every single time.
Still, I can’t help but look back on that fateful day in the future when my time finally ends and wonder about my final words. What caused me to say them? What is there meaning? Why would someone as blessed as me leave this life after saying “If only it had been different…” I suppose I’ll know at the end, because I’m not stupid enough to change a single moment of my remembered life. No, I’m clever me, so I wont change a thing.