They did not listen. They did not know how. Perhaps they'll listen now?
rating: +57+x
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So I've been afraid of flying since I was 8 years old. It's never been a huge deal. If you don't want to fly, though, you don't have to. I drive. I take a train every once in a while… took a bus once but I'm never doing that again. The SCP Foundation is flexible when it comes to travel. My job never made me move all that much anyway.

Point is, I can avoid it. But when I was 8 years old it hadn't even occurred to me. I was sitting up in my room playing Runescape and my mom and dad were arguing again. They were loud. And I couldn't take it, so I climbed out of my window and sat on the roof to look at the stars. I could still hear them, muffled, but it wasn't as bad.

Out there, looking up, was my safe space. Out there the world just slowed down and let me catch up. I could see out into the street… watch cars go by. See people laughing, other kids playing. But eventually I had to go back inside, cause it was getting too cold. So I stood up and I slipped. One foot flew off the roof and then so did I in a weird end over end tumble.

That was my first experience with flying.

I landed on my back in the front yard, looking up at the sky. It knocked the air out of me, and left me dazed. I remember laying there for a few minutes before my Dad came out and found me. The whole world felt like it was spinning and it wouldn't stop. They took me to the hospital. I was fine, just a little bruised. Then they took me to a psychiatrist.

I told them it was an accident, that I wasn't trying to kill myself, but they insisted on a few drugs to help keep my emotions in check. My parents made me take them, and I don't know if it was the drugs or the accident, but every time I layed down and tried to sleep I felt like the whole world was spinning all over again.

School was rough. Everyone thinking I was a suicide risk made it hard to make friends. In high school they called me Crash. Which… let's be real… there are worse nicknames to have, but the origin of it always bugged me. I never went out on the roof again, never got to have that safety and calm.

Right after I graduated my parents told me they were getting a divorce. I wasn't happy but then again who would be when hearing that? The worse part is that I think they stayed together just for me, and once I moved out they realized there wasn't a point anymore. They didn't stay friends. They went to opposite ends of the country just so they wouldn't have to see each other again.

Holidays are rough. Especially since I don't fly.

When I got out of college, I started to work for the SCP Foundation. My job was to examine dangerous ideas. Which makes it sound like a fascist state but I mean legitimately dangerous ideas. One infohazard I helped classify and contain makes you vomit up your appendix if you think about it. Working for the Foundation you learn that the power of thought is unlimited.

I met my wife working here. She was a receptionist for my boss. She was beautiful, smart, funny. Everything I'm not. But she loved me anyway. When I was growing up I always said I'd never have a marriage like my parents. I never wanted to end up hating the person I loved. And I never did.

But about a year ago she saw some papers she wasn't supposed to see. These kinds of slip-ups happen from time to time. Out of courtesy, they told me about the amnestics. Asked me to watch for side-effects. For a few days she couldn't form any new memories. For one of those she didn't recognize me at all. It crushed me. She was still the same sunny and vibrant person but it was like we'd never met.

Then it slowly came back to her. Little things at first, then one day I woke up to her kissing me and I knew she was back. Or at least I thought so.

Amnestics aren't an exact science. It's sometimes impossible to target just one memory and delete it. She was never quite the same after that. Most people wouldn't have noticed, but I did. She'd forget her keys sometimes. She'd lose things. Sometimes she'd talk about things that never happened. It was never enough to mean anything important, but… I knew she wasn't the same woman I'd married.

And I started to hate her for that.

It wasn't her fault, I know. But you can't control what you think. And I knew that one day the same thing could happen to me. Read the wrong paper and suddenly I'm not me anymore, I'm a copy that mostly matches the original.

I asked about retirement, but the same answer came back every time: You couldn't get out without a full course of amnestics. More serious treatment than what my wife had gotten. I wasn't ready for that.

So I hatched a plan instead. I contacted Marshall, Carter, and Dark. I offered my knowledge in exchange for a way out. They came back with a deal that gave me everything I wanted. I accepted it without question.

And that's how we ended up in a Cessna 172, 12,000 feet in the air. I couldn't control how it felt, but my wife tried to calm me down anyway. She still cared. I think I did too.

According to the official record, we ended up in an Iowa cornfield. There were no survivors. As far as the Foundation is concerned we were buried in a plot on the grounds of Site-88. I went to the funeral myself. Not a single person looked directly at me, or the empty casket.

Of course it can never be that simple. I went to my own funeral to find her. The mask that MC&D had put on us worked. No Foundation employees could see us. But *we* were Foundation employees too. She's gone. I'll never see her again. It was a silly mistake on my part. I tried to shield her from all this. I bet she'd have noticed the flaw in my plan if I'd told her.

I thought for a while I could live with that. Thought maybe I would just start a new life. But living without someone you care about is harder than living with someone you hate just a little. And what was she doing? I would never know. She could be dying. She might have lost her keys one morning and never left the house again.

So I went back. I asked them to fix it. MC&D said sure, but there was a catch.

There's always a catch. I was to go into Site-19 and snoop around in their files. Once I found a good SCP I could steal, I had to give it to them. It would be a piece of cake, it's not like the Foundation could see me. They couldn't even comprehend me. They definitely would never remember me.

I waited, I scouted the building, and yesterday I broke in. Went straight to this room because I knew what was here, and knew it would be perfect for resale.

And they locked me in here. Apparently I'm not nearly as smart as I thought I was. They can't remember me, but they can sure as hell remember to close the door I left open. So now I'm stuck. Laying here on my back, staring at the ceiling. Wondering how my life got so out of control. Watching the world spin around me.

If you find this, and you can read it, I'm here. In SCP-055's containment chamber. Just unlock the door.

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