Once a professional

She gripped tightly to the edge of the rink.

“Come on,” he said, drifting backwards away from her.

He slid across the ice without hesitation. She felt unstable, walking on two blades.

“Don’t worry about taking your feet from the ground. You don’t. Think about sliding across the kitchen in your socks.”

It was hard while it was so cold. She slid her right foot in front of her left. She had to let go of the edge.

“You can do this.”

She used to do this all the time. She couldn’t remember. She let go.

I just need all of the scalpels

They woke up in a dark room. On the bedside table lay a note. The writing was a wretched scrawl. If you’re reading this, your memory has been erased. Follow these instructions to get out.

That was nice. The only problem with all of that was that they remembered everything. They got out of bed and burned the note. It hadn’t worked at all. This was fantastic.

They got the key and left the room. The maze of corridors were nothing for them to traverse, as they remembered doing this for years. They eventually found the room they needed to be in. It hadn’t been even an hour.

The doctor was sprawled over the floor, scalpels piercing his flesh and somehow pinning him to the tile. They didn’t know how that had been done. He was still breathing. They leaned over and pulled one out.

With a ragged and sudden breath, the doctor’s eyes opened. “Y-you…”

“It didn’t work,” they told him, irritated. “We had to try again.”

The doctor’s fear left. “Are you kidding me,” he said. “Get me up.”

With a sigh, they pulled all of the scalpels out.