Looking for Lethe by Tysolna
	She walks along the river on a cold, overcast January day, huddled in her leather jacket and home-knit scarf, her hands buried in her pockets for warmth. The clouds have been heavy with the promise of snow for days, but for now, all they do is hide the sunlight and make the days even shorter than they already are. It is both better and worse in January. Better, because the false cheerfulness of Christmas is finally done with and people get back to their usual lives and don't bother her with carols and best wishes and half-hearted invitations to christmas parties, and worse because although the days are blissfully short, the nights drag on almost endlessly, and sleep brings no relief from the memories. She stops, lighting a cigarette, and contemplates the river. Remembering, she compares this January to the 28 she's already lived through, and finds no difference. Memories of January are among the most boring ones she has, and, taking a deep drag on her cigarette, she tries yet again to forget one of these months, or even a day or a minute, until her head begins to ache with the old familiar pain. With a sigh, she flicks the cigarette butt into the river and watches it float away, wishing for the hundreth time her memories could float away with it. When she was seven and surprised both her parents and her teachers with incredible feats of memory, she felt special. When she was fourteeen, she was tested by doctors and psychologists who declared she had an eidetic memory. She had looked up that strange new word in a dictionary and has never forgotten its meaning. At sixteen, she had breezed through school and college, never having to get down and study like her classmates did but being an "A" student all the same since she never forget a lesson she had or a book she read. At 21, she could still smile when her friends and colleagues claimed to have forgotten something - a phone number, say, or a birthday or where they put their keys - but behind that smile was already the secret envy of this ability everyone but her seemed to have: The ability to forget. At 25, her life had become almost unbearable, the memory of every second piling up in her mind. She had consulted every psychologist she could find, stunning every one of them with her seemingly simple request: Let me forget. None could help her. She had tried hypnotism, and those sessions stood out extremely clear in her mind. At one time, she had even considered brain surgery, but since none of the specialists she had talked to could guarantee her to give her what she wanted but leave her mind intact, she had discarded that option. And now, three years later, standing on her favourite spot at the river, the busy sounds of the city in the distance, she remembers again the old story of the other river, Lethe, whose waters promise forgetfulness. Taking out another cigarette, she tries to imagine the life ahead her. Imagines being sixty, or seventy, and still remembering her childhood as if it had been only yesterday. Day after day etched in her memory, every boring minute of work, every movie or TV show, every joke, every ache and pain and every lonely hour at home, alone, and the sadness and senselessness of that life seems to overwhelm her. She tries desperately to recall the happy times she had, but all those memories are tinged with pain - Loving parents dead, friendships gone sour, loves broken apart, new relationships so hard to make because of her uncanny ability to remember everything, and other people fearing to open up to her lest she remember something they would rather she'd forget. Suddenly, it is clear to her that any river, even this very one she's standing at, can be Lethe, can be the water that washes away the memories. She drops her cigarette and crushes it underfoot. This is it, this is what she had been looking for. If the loss of her memories meant the loss of her life as well, so be it - better to end it now, like this, than to go slowly crazy from this gift she had never asked for and did not want. Unhesitating, she climbs down the river bank and steps into the cold, grey water. The coldness makes her shiver, but she wades on, letting the current play with the seams of her jacket. She can feel the water soak into her clothing, and lets herself fall forward and glide into the river. Her soaked clothes weigh heavily with the water, but not as heavy as a lifetime of memories. She swims a few strokes into the middle of the river and then stops, feeling her legs grow numb from the cold and welcoming the feeling. Her woolen scarf pulls her head down, and she lets herself be taken under the water, surrendering herself to the darkness that surrounds her. She wakes up to hospital smells and the sound of strange machinery. A young man, dressed in white, leans over her as she opens her eyes. "Hello there", he smiles. "About time you woke up. We fished you out of the river two days ago." He holds a glass of water to her lips and she drinks, grateful. "Okay... Can you tell me who you are?" She frowns and tries to think. "I don't know", she wispers. "I don't remember." She feels strangely elated. "I can't remember!" Outside, the snow begins to fall.