Gone,
rating: +33+x

| Gone, | SCP-4733 - But Not Forgotten »

1917/03/02

Dear fellow man of science,

My name is Professor A.W., I have built many great things, and many things I deeply regret. I come to you with the utmost haste, and I have heard you may be of assistance.

I have made a terrible mistake. My brash actions have resulted in the removal of my wife from the minds of all. An affair she did have, but reflecting upon this I can only blame myself. I buried myself in my work so deep, she could not reach me. While I sat and played God in my lab, she defied Him in retort. I was enraged, and acting as God in our little play, I struck her out of the history books out of spite; out of petty. She was not at fault, it was I and my hubris in all of my machines, she was right to part from one like me.

Nora. Her name was Nora.

I require your assistance. I am forgetting her along with the rest of man, and in order to bring her back, I must know her. I can see her face still, but I do not know how long I have. Her red auburn blonde? brown hair

I do not have long.

She is but an unwinding spool in my mind. As it unwinds, I feel less and less like myself, more like the monster of mortality I truly am. I have built a machine, it will bring her back once her face rings right, if I have built it right that is. As I have said, in order to bring her back, I must know her as she was, not a mix of "maybe" and "probably" construed off of half-memories my mind thinks are the whole truth.

My request is simple, I need something help me remember her. My memory will bring back her memory for all. I do not assume she will forgive me. I do not have much to pay, the bank reclaimed my estate not too long ago, took most of my possessions with them, I am left without my notes, and most importantly those damned scissors. I will pay you in whatever I can manage. Maybe you can meet her too after. She was nice and pure, I remember this still.

Cheers,

AWsmall.png

today

hello yes this is dado

sorry that i take so long. i supply for many good doctors yes but i will make exception for professor because i sence u will make good root beer in future time.

i read that u need good medicine for brian because the memories keep escape from head. i make u lots drink juice using no forget plants its good medicine 4 brian. drink lots n brian will be all up n running with the thoughts in head. i send it to you by gustav. gustav is crow but i told him your home number so he knows were 2 go. he has grate delivery record, will bring u pack age with amazing prime time delivery. i hope brian is better from the yum yum plant juice.

u do not need pay this time but please put up paper sign for dado sick cure service and waste disposal around house residence please. dado is good doctor who can cure all ails including plaque. dado is number 3 plaque remover and rat driver outer in all of the planet. also dado medicine comes 100 present rat free so no plaque includeded.

since ear lee,

-dado :)











One Professor A.W. stared down at the letter. His eyes receded to the top once more and slowly trickled down the stained parchment. He attempted to make sense of it with what little sense was present, reading the letter's rough strokes one at a time. His aged brain deciphered acceptance, and his unkempt mouth smiled.

"Finally, real help," He croaked, a cough ribbiting out as the dust from his throat cleared.

A.W. turned to his journal and unsheathed a quill from a black jar. He thinks of her as much as his brain could muster, and sunk the quill into the flesh of the paper.

1917/17/2

I have found it quite difficult to remember you, my dear. These experiments have had quite a horrendous effect on my memory, the steel trap that it is. Colleagues of mine have been of minuscule help, besides Isaak, who although was very stingy with his knowledge, recommended me to quite the odd fellow.

The fellow known by the alias "dado" is not much of a poet, but is quite the miracle worker from what little Isaak has told me. Not all miracles can be written I assume. Hopefully, he can help me bring back my miracle-

His quill's slashing slows, he thinks, he ponders, his mind cranks out what little memory is left, what little is left of her.

-Nora, yes, Nora. Nora Nora Nora, that is her name. Nora.

I can only hope that this "dado" works fast. I will see you again soon my love.


His quill drops, a book slams.

A shopkeeper runs screaming out of his store.

Trailing behind, a man jogs briskfully out of the store. Exact word to describe his demeanor are distant, foggy. One coming close is "lowercase", but others such as "visceral" and assorted screeching would work just as well. dado also works.

"thank you for goods," dado yelled as he threw a gold bar at the screaming keeper's head, stopping his running and screaming.

dado begins to walk away from the store, shutting the door behind him quietly to not wake the definitely sleeping shopkeeper. he points what could be considered a finger towards the sky.

"now i shall make the no forgetti medicine" dado squawked.

he looked into his bag, several blue flowers and a couple thermometers settled to the bottom. As he peered upwards, a man stands across from on this now empty street. The man squints under wide hat and through his glasses. He scowls through a thick sliver beard, and pulls a staff from under his red robe.

"dado!" He yells, "Do you know who I am?"

"no but i will give many gold for staff i have customer who want s-"

"I am Grand Warlock Katenbrot, protector of these lands. I sure know who you are, dado," He sneers through gritted teeth, "Oh hell do I."

"dado will give funding for the lock wars maybe but now i must make the no forgetti medicine for the root beer man," dado says, "i will write down number and maybe i could trade for staff b-"

"Stop talking, dado," Katenbrot says, smirking.

Katenbrot holds his staff out, cackling as the staff crackles. Veins of orange sear through its wooden shell, sizzling the flesh of his hand. A fire lights itself above the staff, swirling and pooling into a incandescent ball of flame. Katenbrot jolts his staff forward, the fireball streaking off and towards dado down the road. dirt beneath the road singes as the fire careens towards the lowercase man, soon to have a concrete adjective: scorched.

dado ducks.

Katenbrot's eyebrows furrow as his robe unfurls, revealing several bottles of vibrant color underneath. He rips out one and throws it towards dado, the liquid in the bottle flowing out; growing in size until this old English street becomes a stormy sand beach; the liquid forming a massive purple tidal wave. The wave gushes down the street and gobbles up all in it's path.

dado ducks.

"ok sir you have forced my hands, my hands shalt give you a money to go away, to perform a skedaddle," dado says, pulling out a sheet of paper, "this is dado buck, good for one (1) (uno) dado purchase."

"I don't want your money dado," Katenbrot spits out.

"no, you want my money i shall own currency and beco-"

Katenbrot begins to chant tongues spoken long ago. The ground splits before dado, a large, ember-soaked hand extends out from the crevice as the ground breaks further. The hand grows and grows into an arm, reeling back, ready to smite the dado before it.

dado gooses.

As dado gooses, Katenbrot is thrown off his feet, falling backwards and clattering to the ground. His staff follows suit, slipping from his grip and clunking several lengths away. The arm recedes back into the ground, the soil sealing above it. Sirens trail into existence, growing closer.

"i shall make like the fine capitalist and dado out of here"

dado proceeds to dado out of here, leaving Katenbrot to piece together his dignity on a cold gravel street. The sirens for the definitely normal police officers grow closer, as dado prances farther.


A disheveled professor wades through his house, grabbing equipment and stained paper off the ground, trying to remember what he was doing all of this for. He looked at a paper.

Nora

His mind scrapes up what remains, fueling his failing memory of her. He hears a knock. His head races has his body does the same, he whisks the door open, scanning his doormat. He sees a bottle and a stack of paper, which he swiftly swipes up. He slinks into his home, slamming the door behind him and slamming the bottle onto his desk.

A.W. inspects the liquid, a dark blue, tinged with silver. The label made its sender obvious.

"He came through," A.W. says with a hint of joy.

He pops the bottle's lid, dropping it on a pile of strewn papers.

"To…" He says, trailing to pondering, "Her."

He stabs the bottle into his mouth, the liquid gagging his throat. A.W's mind recoils as his throat forces down the liquid. Memories flood his head as his stomach floods with the concoction. Thoughts once plugged away like water crash into his headspace.

Thoughts of love, marriage, life.
Thoughts once strewn like shredded paper,
now
neatly
stacked.

Now
pieced
together.

He sees Nora, his thoughts near tangible. He looks to his machine; a telephone box he had repurposed, ready to make her real once again. He jumps in without hesitation, and

turns
it
on.

Nora
pools
back,
scattered thoughts blended into the
shape of Nora.



But only the shape.

Professor A.W. sees Nora, but does not see Nora. He bangs on the glass of the machine, trying to get to it. A manifestation of his failure, he finally closes his eyes. He wants to cuss, he wants to object to his failure,

but he can't, not anymore.

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