1 Summary of the forgotten

The sky was still dim red from the sunset, and the lawn of the house was overrun with weeds and vines, archeologist/adventurer john Osawe made his way through the olden neighborhood covered in wildlife alone- sporting a long forrest blade and a pistol in his holster , two orbs of light floated before him illuminating his path and ready to notify his colleagues of his location should he find something, or find trouble

The house was nothing special in the grassy ruins, but strangely it was the only one still untouched by the wild vines , marked only by passage of time and a little patches of algae who knew no better, john made his way to the inner gates of the house which were bounded by thin rusted chains, and all it took was a heavy push and the gates fell open hinges leaning inwards, the remaining wooden door barring entry came down in pieces with a light swing of the blade

A sea of dirt made of aging furniture and torn fabric holding little signs of biological decay lay on the floor, john gingerly stepped on a narrow patch of floor which had little obstructions, the light orbs brightened and trailed around him recording as he moved through the house

He moved room to room looking for any thing note worthy to record and observed, so far the only interesting thing he found where melted candle spots and crude isolation boxes or holmic refrigerator boxes as they were once called

That's when he saw it, a makeshift jotter made with torn sheets of the exercise notes that were popular a hundred or so years ago they crudely tied together by twisted fabric which john unbound and began to look through as he moved around the room

the pages were frail and powdery with missing edges, showing great age lasting only till now due to the strange circumstance of the house

the writings were barely readable, faded or totally erased john only managed to make sense of a sentence , the style was old but there was not much language change in the hundred or so years,

it read,

"we are, in life, shackled by many thin….'

Hmm I wonder, which philosopher wrote that one John said sarcastically to the light orbs, the people of a hundreds of years ago loved vague sounding wisdom and motivational quotes, placing them every where with a profound looking background pictures

He still had the paper residue scanned though, but got nothing except its age, it was made about 300 years ago and the words were written 30 years after that,

So 270 years ago, a man thought himself a poet,he chuckled and looked around the room, then he left to the corridor, stopping suddenly as he saw a glimpse of a scribble on the wall, he bunched his eyebrows for a moment

Totally unreadable

with a mental nodge he got a light orb to analyze it and another one to read it

'Apologies' he heard the calmautomated voice of a middle-aged man through his hearing pods lodged in his middle ear

'Apologies 'it read ' I realize lately that paper may not hold my word for long unfortunately I am older and weaker now so I can only carve a little now of what I wrote,'

The carvings were forty years younger than the writings

'Old men stress themselves for rest' john sigh and nudged the machine on

We are most free when we are young suckling babies giggling in our cots, for we know nothing except what we get, milk from mommy warmth from daddy, boobies from strange women who think were cute'

John choked when he read that line 'pervy old man' he laughed

As we get older responsibilities increase and we start to think, this isn't really fun anymore

Still we seize the day how little we can, finding joy in what little we experience, a large percentage of us , those that 'grow up' realize we are even more shackled with this 'joy' than we were before it , when all we had to do was do the dishes

The scribbling ended

John walked down the corridor illuminated by orbs until he found the next set , a single carving on a wall, ten years younger than the one before it

'we are, in life, shackled by many things'

'Ah, there it is, a little sooner than expected though' he thought

The voice remained silent as it could find no more carving

John was solemn , great last words, he placed the old man's age to be about mid 70s or early 80s assuming he was about late 20s when he wrote on the paper

He went back around the house to check what else he missed, and he observed a curious thing

The number of moldy patches and wall incrases from inner to outer rooms

He retraced back in, making sure to take algae samples along the way and sure enough it at the base of the wall with the admittedly awesome quote there was no mold, no sign of life except the dead preserved wooden doors ending the corridors

More writings littered the walls around the door

40 years younger

'hmm, old crone when did you die'

The voice started again reading the carvings, some of them breaking mid sentence for a year or 10

'we are shackled by government, and law, occupation and wealth, society and family, friends…

Their chains, are made of taxes and money,and power and position and hate and love, nostalgia and memories "

'Damn' though automated the voice carried so much passion and pain and fatigue

'I observed all these and wished to be free, ' the carvings stopped

'from all' it continued a year later

'but only the mad and the dead are truly free, I mused one day as I watched the earth cover my friend in a cemetery,

We were Close as the last two fingers on your hands, we shared ideals, and wisdom and granted foolishness, now he was free, no taxes no positions no hate no love to hold him no just peace, freedom '

'The only downside was that he didn't know this '

The carvings ended

'He got personal' john said a bit excited to an faithfull light orb

'now I want to hear the and of this old mans tale'

He thought for a while and didn't enter immediately, he brought out a nose mask from a back pouch and secured it on his face, and then went in

The air felt heavier here than elsewhere , the sudden feeling got him short of breath an be reached for his holster ready to fire on and wild life that may pop suddenly out of the corners or maybe under the large bed sheets where old crone probably lay,

It took him while to find carvings becauseth ey where on the floor at the foot of the bed

The age made him take a cold breath

The carvings were about 30 years old

The voice read

" I can't be mad, for a madman man know remains shackles in ways I won't want to be, I can't be dead, because I won't know it"

"So I bought this house in an unknown in an untraceble manner and fake my death"

"Acknowledge in death by government, Family and friends, and I lived as dead as a living man can be, aware of my freedom"

"Aware in every way of my total philosophical death"

At this point even John in precise could tell the carvings were getting sloppy, and he fell quiet imagining the old man leaning laboriously to carve this

The light orbs found the next carvings before he did

The automated systems trove to mimic the tone as humanly as possible as it read

"Those who frame death may unfortunately find that he is but a lazy and forgetful entity"

Age of carvings too early to say

John froze in step,

He looked earnestly for the first time around the room, his mind slowly churning on the information he aquired 'i am getting older and weaker .... Death ... a forgetful entity

His eyes came to rest on the bed sheets under which lay a figure he hadn't noticed earlier,

a bony figure lay therewith its head and face covered in a stream of flat white hair

He watched it and caught what could only be called it's ribcage fall slowly,way too slow

The thin ancient frame took a long labourous breath, filled with pain and bitterness, and then exhaling slowly, and though unwilling he took a breath again

Ari Ahek