A red balloon, vibrant and shining like a single drop of blood, drifted up to the cold iron sky.

——— could not get the image out of her head. It was stuck there as if by glue.

What unnerved her more, though, was that she had no idea where the memory had come from.

It had assailed her suddenly, with persistent vengeance since its appearance. Pounding behind her eyes, a headache holding a picture from someone else’s life.

——— attempted to ignore the memory as she walked from work to the living quarters across the street. A black car whipped by, probably carrying some important member of government, as they were the only ones who needed and bothered with such transportation. ——— hurried across the street, making it in front of the steel structure where she slept before any other vehicles got too close.

With a sigh, ——— searched for her keys, trying not to focus too much on the cool metal that made her picture a lone spark of color flying steadily away.

A high-pitched voice exclaimed something beyond her, and footsteps pounded down the street. ——— whirled around, searching for the source of the noise. But it was just a group of children, wearing the odd grimaces unique to their kind. Shaking her head, ——— turned back to her task and stuck the key in the lock.

Something shivered at the base of her skull, a ticklish memory creeping out.

——— hissed, rubbing her neck. What was wrong with her? She glared at the children who continued shouting, making her headache throb more acutely. They just smiled back, ducking around the corner.

Wait . . . . Smiled?

——— shook her head, sure that was the first time she’d heard the word. And yet . . . it sounded right, irrevocably so. She knew they were smiling and couldn’t be angry at them. Why was that?

Just get to bed. Keep your head down. Stop thinking about it. Go to sleep, and tomorrow it will all be fine. You won’t remember what it is like to smile or watch a balloon drift away.

She did so, rushing through the rows of bunks towards her own.

By the time she collapsed and pulled the sheet over her head, her thoughts were racing along with her heart. Memories that had once fallen softly and alone like snow had turned to heavy rain, coming fast and numerous.

——— thought she remembered the feeling, better than smiling, of watching another smile. He’d had a gap-toothed grin, much like the child had outside.

They were in a huge warehouse, cold and utilitarian. And yet there was warmth and laughter, as alien as a smile, echoing around the steel walls.

And there was the iron sky. ——— looked up, feeling an intense sadness, as if all the times she’d been alone were compressed into one painful moment. It was a distant feeling though, like an echo of emotion. What she should be feeling, perhaps. Just above her hovered the string of a red balloon, but even when she jumped she could not reach it. Soon, it grew small against the height of the metal heavens. ——— cried, which was odd. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried. Yet, with the emotion coursing through her, it almost seemed . . . natural.

Footsteps sounded on concrete behind her.

“We can share,” a boy said, reaching out his fisted hand to hers. He gripped the cord of a blue balloon. They were old, dusty, worn by time, but some of the older kids had found them in this old warehouse, and there were enough to go around. How did she know that?

——— sniffled, but instinctively smiled through her fading tears as she grabbed the balloon, so they both clutched its bobbing string.

Something warm bubbled up within ——— as she watched the boy smile. It was a powerful feeling, something she didn’t know if she’d ever felt before. Much like the feeling you got after a good day’s work, but somehow more intense, without the expectation that you would have to work again.

Then the vision was gone.

No.

——— reached out as though to grasp the fading threads of memory. It was no use. The occurrence had happened years before. So long ago, there was no way she should remember it.

She had been a child in the vision.

——— sat up, heart thumping as though to escape her ribcage. She clutched her chest, trying to focus. It—it hadn’t been real. Surely it had just been a dream. A…a waking dream.

But where did she learn what a smile was, then? How could she still feel the lingering warmth left by that boy’s smile? It felt much too vivid to be anything but reality.

How, then, did ——— remember?

It was supposed to be impossible. Once your childhood memories were wiped away, you became efficient, hardworking, intelligent. A true member of society. And you never, never remembered.

As her breaths began to slow, ——— shook her head. Despite the impossibility of it, despite the fact that she would likely be imprisoned if her recollection was discovered, she could not shake the feeling of warmth. She felt she was, in some way as impossible as the memory itself, better for remembering.

So she lay back down, resolving to, someday, find that boy and share with him another smile.

Closing her eyes, she let herself drift again into memory and dream.

Very glad she knew what it was to smile.