Two flasks of Mnemo-soma are strong enough to blot out even the fondest of memories. Three flasks in, and you won’t be able to recall anybody else’s name aside from your own. Four or more? Complete and utter obliviousness. Crane your neck and look at this lonesome boy dressed in a cloud of doubt. Orfeo is his name. Or-fee-yo.

 

He’s been here a while. Witness how he chews on his lip, the juvenile! He’s fidgeting—look how his leg bounces! The regulars have begun darting their eyes in his direction. The boy better watch himself now. Suspicion is dangerous. He knows that. He better tighten up, because not even I—a Shade, of all things!—would be able to keep him out of harm’s way if it ever comes to him.

 

I’ve been watching over this boy since he came out of the womb. I looked over his mother before she passed on the same day Orfeo took his first gulp of fresh air, and then her father before that, and so on. Shades don’t grow attached, they say. Well, I don’t believe them. If they’re right, then maybe I’m not a Shade. That much is certain. 

 

Enough about me. Look! The boy has just toppled over a man’s pint with his elbow!

 

“What’s wrong with you, kid? The man bellowed, jolting to his feet in a flash. 

 

Uh-oh. Not good. 

 

“Sorry—I—Sorry…” Orfeo mumbled profusely. Helpless. Always helpless. 

 

The man stormed away, sputtering a river of curses that Orfeo chose to ignore. Smart. Always smart. Only then did the boy decide to address me. 

 

“Stop looking at me like that,” he hissed.

 

“Like what?” I asked, hovering over the bar counter. I stopped inches from his face and flashed a toothy grin. 

 

“Like something’s wrong with me.” He lowered his face, almost parallel to the countertop. 

 

“There is something wrong with you,” I emphasized. The boy clenched and unclenched his fists. Stubborn. Always stubborn. 

 

What separates me from other Shades is that Orfeo can hear and see me, for reasons unknown. When he was merely a babe, we locked eyes. It was the first time someone had looked into my eyes for a very long time. The rest is history. 

 

The bartender placed another full flask of Mnemo-soma in front of Orfeo. The boy straightened in his seat. That clunk of a Mnemo-soma flask is as tempting as a siren’s song. 

 

This will be the boy’s third. I have to do something before it’s too late.

 

I quickly swept into his side and caught him flinching. I held back a playful grin.

 

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough of that wretched soma?” I asked. He gave me no response. I held back a sigh—here we go again. 

 

I clicked my tongue, once, then twice. 

 

“No amount of Mnemo-soma could bury the mutterings of a wild heart, boy.” I tilted my head to catch his gaze. He refuses to meet mine. Impossibly helpless. Always impossibly helpless. 

 

Mnemo-soma. Knee-mo-saw-mah. Humanity’s greatest failure. I have been a Shade long enough to see the world change and fold in on itself until nothing is recognizable. They say Shades don’t mourn—that we can’t feel. Explain me, then. The mortals drink it like an irresistible elixir. Mnemo-soma has been around long enough that even the other Shades, who were great company, had drunk it themselves when they were alive. Orfeo’s grandparents’ great-great-grandparents did so, too. I was forced to watch as they desperately tried to fill their unquenchable thirst for impassivity. Numbness. Apathy. 

 

To love has now become a crime. To show even a small flicker of desire in your eyes would have you prescribed Mnemo-soma. Three flasks deep under the soma’s influence and you’ll be back to “normal.” Try to resist, and prescription becomes coercion. 

 

Relationships have become bound by duty rather than emotion. Mnemo-soma erases memories of your deep emotional desires, leaving you with a clean slate. A clear reset. What a disgrace it has all become. What happened, you may ask? Power. Control. Fear. Put the three together and you’ll have a flock of sheep who’ll bend to your every will. It’s that easy, sadly. 

 

The day I discovered that Orfeo was unlike the others—that he could see me in a way no one else could—I set it upon myself to plant a seed of resistance in this boy.  He’s so close to breaking through the soma’s influence, I could feel it. 

 

Three days ago, Orfeo had been caught with a woman named Eudora. A sweet girl whose smile, I am convinced, would inspire Orfeo to fly to the moon and back. A rendezvous gone wrong. So simple. And utterly avoidable if only they had been more attentive. But you see, true love is never careful. It is reckless and all too powerful to be shoved away by some synthetic soma’s effect. Wherever Eudora is, I only pray a part of her is fighting it too. 

 

“Eudora’s waiting,” I started, trying to catch a reaction from him. 

 

Eudora. Eudora. Eudora. You-dor-ah. 

 

“Do you remember her? Eudora? Eudora. Eudora,” I repeated her name like a broken record. Orfeo wrapped his hands around the flask. I have a minute at most. If I fail this, I will have failed them both. 

 

“Orfeo. Eudora. Orfeo and Eudora! Eudora and Orfeo! Come on, boy! Remember.” 

 

If I blinked, I would have missed it. 

 

There. 

 

That glint. 

 

That flicker. 

 

“Eudora?” Orfeo’s voice faltered, reducing itself to no more than a whisper, as if he was testing the familiar roll of her name on his tongue. He turned to me at last, his red-rimmed eyes starting to pool with tears. 

 

“My Eudora,” he sputtered. “Is she okay?” 

 

“She is,” I said. “I know she is.”

 

Under his breath, he uttered an oath. I caught it. They say Shades can’t feel. A big lie. I feel so elated I could jump with joy.  

 

“Eudora, wait for me.” Orfeo pushed the flask away and stood up so violently that his stool scraped loudly against the floor. 

 

I watched as every head in the bar turned to him. I watched as he took three quick strides towards the door, each footfall echoing the very oath he had sworn. 

 

Wait. For. Me.

 

I smiled.

 

Mnemo-soma, you have finally lost.