Forgotten echoes

Ethan jolted awake—

Breath sawing ragged. Not fear. Not panic. Just… something wrong in the air.

Eyes scanned the room. Same four walls. Same dawn light bleeding through the blinds. 

Everything? Exactly where it should be.

But that hollow in his chest? Gnawing.

He dragged a hand down his face. Tried to claw back the dream.

Nothing. Just… static.

Fragments. Nonsense scenes. For the first time in years—no reality shift. No cracks in the world.

And that—that—was what scraped his nerves raw.

The day dragged on like always. Or… almost always.

But Ethan couldn't shake the itch under his skin—something off.

In class, he tried to glue his eyes to the whiteboard. Mind? Miles away.

He needed proof.

At lunch, he cornered Daniel and Andrés, words spilling before he could choke them back:

"Hey… you guys remember Iria?"

Both blinked at him like he'd just asked for a ticket to Mars.

"Iria?" Daniel's brow crinkled. "Who the hell's that?"

Ethan's neck prickled—like winter's fingernail scraping his spine.

"C'mon, you've gotta remember her. Long hair? Always smiling… Pretty sure we used to hang out."

Andrés tilted his head like he was digging through fog.

"Mmm… name kinda rings a bell," he muttered. "But dunno for sure."

Ethan latched onto that sliver of maybe.

"Yeah! Exactly. You've seen her around, right?"

But Andrés' face—blank slate. Brow furrowed, hand rubbing his temple.

"Wait… what was I…?"

Daniel snorted, clapped Andrés' shoulder. "Bro's brain's fried from last night's game."

—You're trippin'. Never heard of no Iria.

Andrés went quiet, rubbing his neck before shrugging.

"Yeah… guess I imagined it."

Ethan's gut knot-tight. Not just forgotten—their memories were rotting mid-sentence.

Wrong. All wrong.

After school, Ethan vowed to dig alone.

"You're hallucinating. No Iria exists."

Andrés paused, then shrugged like shaking off a fly.

"Yeah… must've made it up."

Ethan's stomach twisted. Not just forgotten—their memories rotted faster than he could speak.

The air felt… thick—like the truth was drowning in static.

After school, he dug solo.

The library's mothball stink clung to his lungs as he clocked in.

Yearbook section.

Dust choked the air. His fingers trembled as he slammed a leather-bound tome onto the table.

Flip.

Flip.

Flip.

Every page—paper cuts of dread.

Scanned group photos. Club rosters. Sports teams.

Nothing.

Faster.

He flipped faster—pages blurring—desperation clawing up his throat.

Her name had to be here.

But.

Nothing.

No Iria.

No trace.

Just… ghost-shaped blanks where she should've been.

Ethan's spine iced over. This wasn't forgetting.

This was erasure.

He remembered.

Her voice. Her laugh. The way her shadow stretched next to his in the hall.

But this world? No crumbs left of her.

Elbows slammed onto the table. Eyes squeezed shut. Breathe. Breathe.

Wrong place. Wrong clues.

The yearbook thudded shut. Shoved aside like it'd spat in his face.

Not giving up. Not yet.

He rocketed out of the library, sneakers screeching on linoleum.

More proof. Had to be more.

He dug through attendance logs in the admin office. Nothing.

Scoured bulletin boards plastered with field trip pics, science fairs, pep rallies. No Iria. Nowhere.

Even cornered Mr. Hargrove—a fossil who'd taught there since the Stone Age.

"Ever heard of a girl named Iria? Went here a few years back."

The teacher's brow crinkled like crumpled paper.

"Iria? Doesn't ring a bell. You sure she was here?"

Ethan's throat clenched.

"Yeah… positive," he croaked, voice cracking like thin ice.

Mr. Hargrove just shrugged.

"Sorry, kid. Name doesn't ring a bell."

No records. No photos. No memories.

Like the universe had scraped her off the timeline.

And the gut-punch? He didn't even know why.

By sundown, Ethan was running on fumes.

A day spent digging, begging, clawing for one damn trace of her.

Nothing.

His face planted onto his bed, ceiling spinning. Body deadweight. Mind static.

Eyes shut.

Maybe tonight… the dreams would spit out answers.

But when he woke in his dream-world, Iria wasn't there.

The park where he always found her looked exactly as he remembered… but the air? Thick. Wrong.

Too wrong.

The swing she always sat on swayed in the breeze—empty but still warm, like she'd just… poofed.

No footprints. No shadow-smudge between the trees.

His chest? Hollowed out. Skin prickling—alarm bells no one else heard. This dream? Broken.

He bolted down paths, scoured every bush. Voice cracking as it echoed:

"Iria—?"

Nothing.

No one.

Only the echo of his voice hurling the void back at him.

Wind whispered through leaves, but the air hung heavy—a sickly calm, like the world was holding its breath.

Ethan froze. Breath turned ragged.

In every dream before this, she'd always been here. Always.

Now? Like she'd never existed here at all.

His hands trembled. One pressed to his chest, useless against his jackrabbit heart.

Something is missing. Something vital.

"Iria…" A whisper this time—small, like the dream might bite if he spoke louder.

Wind wailed in reply.

And for the first time since this began…

He was alone.

Truly alone.