Just a repost of a relatively new one-shot. I like this one, though it has absolutely no place in the story it accompanies.

Is anyone noticing a trend there?

Anyways. Onwards and upwards.

Finis

My memory, it only goes back so far.

Ask me what I did yesterday, and I'll tell you. I can give you a play-by-play account of the past week, the past month, even the past year. If you ask me what I was doing this time three years ago, there's a pretty good chance that I can recount it with the utmost accuracy.

But ask me what happened five years ago, and things start to fall apart. My memory isn't bad-- quite the opposite, actually.

Five years ago, something happened. And now I have no memories.

I don't know anything about myself-- who knows what my name is? Who knows who I am?

Who the hell knows what happened to me?

All I know is that, when I woke up one morning five years ago, I could walk, talk, read, and speak.

There were two photographs in my left hand-- one of a boy, and one of a girl. On the back of the boy's picture, it said "This is your brother. Protect him."

On the back of the girl's picture, it said, "This is xxx. Love her." There had been a name, but it was crossed out.

And in my right hand, there was a phone. I could hear a voice coming out of it, loudly asking, "Are you there?" over and over again.

"I'm here," I said calmly, even though I didn't know what was going on.

I could hear the voice practically break in relief when it heard me. "Thank god you're alright-- I'm coming to get you, okay?"

"Okay," I said, but it wasn't okay. Not really. She hadn't answered the important questions, like, "Who am I?" and, "Should I love you, or someone else?"

Maybe those questions were secondary. It didn't matter.

Written on my arm was, "You have ended. Your name is Finis."

On my other arm, it said, "Don't look back. It's for the best."

I was in a bathroom, and I looked in the mirror. On my forehead, written backwards so I could read it, it said, "I promise."

----

The girl in the picture was the one who came to get me, along with the boy who was my brother. I didn't know how much they were supposed to know, or how much they would know, so I ate the pictures, washed my arms and my face, and pocketed the telephone. I didn't know where I was, or whether I should have left, or where they were taking me to, but they drove me to a house that was falling apart on the outside and well-preserved within.

And then they left me, saying good-bye as though it was something I had asked them to do well in advance.

Maybe I had.

----

I lived alone in the house for a while. Money was not an issue, not for me-- I had found a full keyring under my bed, and one of the keys opened a room that was empty but for a box of records, another key, and a paper with an address. I took the records and the key, and followed the address to a small shop where I opened the door with the key and set the records down on the floor.

A man I didn't know came in soon after, and welcomed me back warmly.

I smiled at him, and he bought a record and left.

I didn't know who he was, or why I should be here instead of anywhere else, but there was a piece of paper sitting in the cash register which read, "This is right," and so I stayed in the house, and worked in the store by day, and it was enough to do these things that didn't require me to remember.

And one day, the brother came to me.

"Who are you?" he asked, gazing defiantly into my eyes. He looked just like me.

"Finis," I replied, because it was the only name that I knew for myself.

He looked me up and down, laughed the same short, barking laugh that I laughed when I was angry,and said, "I thought you would say that. May I have an ending, please?"

Attempting to mask my confusion, I asked, "Pardon?"

"I want to stay with you, brother," he clarified. "I need a new name for that."

I thought for a moment, and remembered the small journal that had sat on my bedside table since I had arrived at the house. "One moment," I told him, and I rushed up the stairs and opened it.

Your brother will ask for a new name, it said. Christen him Fine.

"Fine," I called down the stairs. "You're Fine now."

"Me? Fine?" he shouted back. "What the hell are you talking about?"

I glanced down at the small book again. Underneath was written a pronunciation. Not "fine," it said, but fee-nay.

"Are you sure you don't mean 'Fee-nay'?" he yelled.

"Yes," I told him, emerging from my room and coming down the stairs to him. "That was exactly what I meant."

"Perfect. I've missed you, Finis."

He hugged me then, and I hugged him back. I didn't remember him, but it felt so nice to feel loved-- and at any rate, I was supposed to protect him.

But from what?