Today's #Scifi #fantasy short story #TheMemoryChampionship

“Based on the evidence we have collected... the only place the murder could have occurred would have been... here.”

Blues Clues*

       We ate at Del Taco. Which was like going to Taco Bell if you step through one of those alternate universe portals. Not that I step through many of those...yup...I never go through any of those. Nope.

Anyway onto the flash fiction!

The Memory Championship

       Mr. Anderson's honeymoon was taking a beating. It was one of his strongest memories and some kid's memory was wiping the floor with it. He had even refined it over and over. Talking with his wife about every single moment in detail. Reliving it with her in the Memory Machine.

        And yet now in psychic combat he was being beaten by a kid. A simple child. All his memories were. The crowd even loved it. After all the kid was an “underdog” against a world champion like him in the psychic arena.

       The two competitors sat in chairs with machines hooked to their brains while manifestations of whatever memories they were fighting with appeared in a massive boxing like area between them for all in the stadium to see... and whoever watched on television. Mr. Anderson's honeymoon was a massive ball of flame, ten arms coming out of it. Somewhere hidden inside was a head. He told the audience the fire was simply the fiery love between him and his wife. A cheesy description yes. But very true. And before the boy's memory nothing had beaten it.

      The boy's memory had gathered much favor with the crowd and even went with his “underdog” persona. It appeared as a dog. An adorable tiny dog. It moved so fast only stopping for moments while the boy thought for his next move. It moved so quickly that Mr. Anderson couldn't even see how it was hurting his memory, or any of his others.

      “I have to know boy,” Mr. Anderson said, “What is that memory? You never put a description of your memory when you signed up for the league. A boy your age couldn't possibly have that many strong memories to use for fighting. And if this is your first memory that what else could you have to fight with?”

       “This is the only memory I have strong enough to fight with.” The boy smiled. Mr. Anderson could barely see it from across the arena but he could still the confidence in it. “But it's actually a collection of memories bound together into one.”

       Mr. Anderson laughed. “And old trick. Making one memory out of many. Really all memories work that way. But forcing it takes talent or skill. Explains why you've never lost. But still, why is it so powerful?”

       “Because it's the memory of someone I know.” The boy said.

        Mr. Anderson grew angry. “Oh, I get it now. You're some street fighter that got into the league. Now I know why your memory is so strong. It's the memory of a dead dog of yours! That's why it looks like that. You know the memories of any one dead are illegal right? Is that why you didn't put a description on your memory? Taking advantage of the fact no one would interrogate a boy? This ain't a street fight boy. We follow rules. You don't see me using the memories of my dead grandfather to get an advantage over you.”  Mr. Anderson worked hard to resist getting up from his seat. “I became world champion fair and square.”

        The boy smiled. “Sir, I never owned a dog. The memory is of a living, breathing person. He's in the audience now, sitting right behind you.” The boy smiled smugly. “He's wearing a red shirt. He's my best friend.” Mr. Anderson turned around to see the friend waving.

        “We came up with the trick together. Ever since kindergarten we've hung out every day after school and every weekend we can manage. But also he comes to every match. I look at him and I'm reminded of all the memories...bringing back the strength of the memory in the area anew. The memory also gets stronger as I fight because we're forming a new memory right here and now. And it's a dog because he has a dog named Crusher that we play with.”

        "Clever little kid," The champion said with a groan.

        The kid gave him an obnoxious look, “You'd think the champion would think of something like that and do it with his wife. And the memory of your honeymoon isn't even that strong. Do you even like her that much.”

Mr. Anderson filled with rage. “No one ever insults the love between me and wife and gets away with it. Not even a little kid. You think your little friendship with your stupid little friend means anything? No. It doesn't. This is now a street match kid. I'm going to show you my most powerful memory and I'm going to show you how much I love my wife.”

       The honeymoon vanished and what replaced it was an abomination of a memory. Its shaped was ill defined and filled with darkness. Where there wasn't a dark smog there was tentacles, claws, heads fitting demons and things that defy most explanation. The machine that rendered the area, a program that read their brains and created manifestations of the memories, had difficulty with the memory. Around the memory the virtual space of the area warped as the machine worked to keep up with it.

      “W-what is that thing?” The boy trembled.

       “My wife was being attacked by a man. I'll spare you the specifics. I saved her from him. The only way I could do it was by killing him... I didn't have a weapon so I had to do it with my spare hands. This is the manifestation of that memory. That is how much I love her. I killed a man with my bare hands to save her.”

Shadows from the memory appeared and covered the entire arena. The manifestation of the boy's memory fell over.

      “I'm so sorry Sir.”

       Shortly after Mr. Anderson was disqualified for using a trauma as a memory and the boy was given the title of world champion. When Mr. Anderson gave the trophy to the boy he told him that he wanted a rematch. But this time he wanted to bring his own childhood friend to watch. The one that him into memory battling when he was a kid.