His Name Is Glitch
His name is Glitch. He remembers that. Mostly, often.
There are so many things he doesn’t remember, though. So many things he doesn’t know. So many things he wishes he knew.
His name – his real name – for instance is like a phantom in his mind and on his tongue. Unbearably close but yet so far it slips through his fingers like the finest grains of sand in the Outer Zone. The thought of it beckons him, sometimes, in his half formed dreams. Someone looking at him, trusting and smiling, affectionate and kind, saying his name like a caress against his skin but he can’t remember. He can’t remember.
There are other things, too. Places and people he knows he should remember but are out of his grasp like shadows in the sun; important things that press at the little left of his mind until he wants to tear his ragged hair out. Bang his balled up fists against his temples in frustration.
Why can’t he remember, even just a little bit? Just enough to help. Just enough to prove that he can. Just enough that…that…
His name is Glitch. He remembers that. Often, mostly.