Pages of Memory - By Denislav Dzhendov

Written By: Denislav Dzhendov

Category: Short Story

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, Denislav Dzhendov presents "Pages of Memory," a gripping short story that delves into the intricacies of memory and identity in a controlled dystopian society. Through a narrative that captures the struggles of an individual yearning for freedom and recollection in a world that suppresses both, Dzhendov invites readers to explore the value of personal history and the power of memory.

About the Work

"Pages of Memory" evokes a profound sense of longing and reflection in a meticulously constructed dystopian setting. The story captures the essence of a society that has sacrificed individuality and memory for control and predictability. Through vivid imagery and a poignant narrative, readers are drawn into a world where remembering is a revolutionary act, and stories hold the key to personal liberation. Dzhendov's literary style is both haunting and evocative, inviting readers to question the cost of forgetting.

Pages of Memory

Original Submission by Denislav Dzhendov

Pages of Memory

By: Denislav Dzhendov

A Short Story

1

Yet again, the shrillness of the sirens awoke me. I shifted onto my back and twisted out of my stuffed nylon sack, raising a cloud of dust and soot in the process. Tugging at the strap at the back of my head, I released my sleeping mask and rubbed the tender red marking it had left around my nose and mouth. As advised by our personal safety assistant, the nylon and the filter mask served to protect our skin and lungs from prolonged exposure to the air. Still, I hated how sticky and suffocated my body was every morning. Some part of me thought that I felt different when I was younger. For a second, I even tried to remember what it was like waking up to the sound of your own alarm. The indicator ring attached to my right thumb started to buzz and light up in red. It was to tell me that I had once again spent too much time thinking and trying to remember. I quickly shook my head, hoping that I would redirect my attention to something else. My personal thought assistant had advised me to do so. ‘’Memories are nothing but a burden, a flaw in the development of the human mind’’ it had told me. I had to find a way to reduce the number of red buzzers, or my thought assistant would have to assign me to therapy sessions, and I really didn't want that.

‘’Good morning, Clarence! It is highly advised that you get out of bed, close your shutters, and put on your R-7 face mask, intended for high levels of air pollution.’’

I got out of bed and rushed towards the shutters, thrusting them forward until the rusted mechanism snapped, thinking how much I disliked the voice of my personal safety assistant. The room instantly turned pitch black, and I felt my way around the wall for the switch. As a single unit, I was only permitted to one set of windows, but I didn't really mind because it wasn't like there was much to see from them. I thought I could remember a time when windows opened, but what would be the purpose of that?

"Hello, Clarence! It is highly advised that even when inside, you put on your R-7 face mask intended for high levels of air pollution.’’

I walked to my only wardrobe beside my bed and opened the left door where all my face masks hung. The third mask from the front lit up sporadically, indicating it was the right one to take. I locked it onto my face and took a few deep breaths as I got used to the thinner air. I made my way back to the edge of my bed and stood still as I tried to recall what I was supposed to do today. It was becoming increasingly difficult for me to remember anything, but my personal thought assistant had assured me that it was due to my advanced age. Perhaps in the days before, I wouldn't have let myself fall so far behind, but it would be suspicious if I doubted anything my personal assistants had advised me of. Plus, it was so much easier to have someone else solve your problems.

‘’What time is it’’? I asked, staring at the faded round silhouette on the ochre wall directly in front of me. Some time ago, exactly how much I can’t remember, it was the resting place of a mechanical clock, the only thing left that I could read. The removal of books was one of the first acts after the establishment of the Reformation, and the government was very keen on enforcing the idea that we didn’t need any information that couldn't be provided by our personal assistants. Soon followed any means of writing, art, signage, and most recently the removal of anything that told the time. Our personal health assistant had explained that constantly checking the time only adds stress to the mind, but I wondered whether it was odd that I actually missed the feeling of being stressed.

‘’Good morning, Clarence!’’ my personal task assistant responded.’’The time is 6:47 in the morning, Wednesday, January 13th. There is a Category 4 dust storm outside, with gales reaching up to 75 km/h. The storm is expected to clear soon, giving way to overcast skies with 96% cloud cover, and daytime temperatures are expected to reach 10 degrees Celsius. Would you like to know your tasks for the day?’’

I almost wanted to decline, but only because a large part of me wished I could remember what I had to do today. Of course, such a response would be highly illicit and would be recorded by my assistants as dubious behaviour.

‘’Yes.’’

‘’Of course, Clarence! The responsibilities that you are required to fulfill today include arriving at work at 8:00 A.M and leaving at 2:15 P.M, after which you have a doctor’s appointment at 3:30 P.M, as prescribed by your personal health assistant. It is advised that you dress accordingly and be ready to leave to catch bus number 24 leaving from the station nearest you at 7:20. Would you like to know what is advised to not do today?’’

‘’Yes.’’ I knew that declining a response for this question would also be recorded.

‘’Certainly, Clarence! It is highly advised that you wear something warm today as the weather is chilly. It is highly advised that you do not change out of your R-7 face masks despite the clearing of the dust storm, as pollution levels would be elevated throughout the day. It is highly advised that you catch bus number 24. It is of utmost importance that you arrive at work on time and do not leave until you are dismissed. You must attend your doctor’s appointment at 3:30 P.M, and you must return to your lodging straight after your appointment. Please proceed with your tasks.’’

I walked back to my Wardrobe and opened the right door where neatly folded lay my limited, and exclusively gray collection of clothes. From them I picked out some black stockings, a checkered black and white maxi skirt, and a gray long-sleeved blouse. I used that time to dress and think over today’s tasks. Most of them did not seem any different from any other day of the week. I think I go to work every day, and I definitely wear my filter masks every day. But what has become an increasingly regular occurrence are my doctor appointments. I don’t remember complaining of anything to my personal health assistant, and neither do I remember the last time I had a fever or cough. Of course, hospitals barely take anyone in for such reasons anymore. The government can not waste its limited resources on healthcare, and we have been instructed that in most cases our bodies have everything they need to fight off any illness. No, only one thing can be behind these systematic visits to the doctor’s. My age. And not because people over 50 are increasingly predisposed to hormone illnesses and conditions like cancer. Those are illnesses of the past, or so they say. However, age brings the most dangerous illness of all. Memories. When the Reformation began, the government launched an extensive programme for memory treatment that was prescribed to every citizen. But the older the person, the harder it was to treat them, so soon after the government had launched another initiative called the Cleansing. Through it, they explained that they would permanently heal those of old age who were crippled by memories, relieving them of their pains. Soon there was barely anyone left over 50. During that time, I was young enough to avoid being permanently cleansed, but my frequent memory treatments could only mean that my personal health assistant was beginning to worry. I quickly looked down at my indicator ring, expecting it to buzz any moment. Still green. I was in the clear. Nonetheless, I had spent way too much time thinking. I quickly put on my boots and unlocked the front door, leaving my coat behind. Winter was never really cold enough anymore for me to use it. And even if it was, leaving it was one of the few decisions I could still make on my own.

2

I worked as an elementary school teacher. I don’t know which grade exactly, but the students I worked with appear to be around 10. Not sure if that was also my job before the Reformation, but it didn't really matter anymore. The personal job assistants had taken over almost everything except the political labor sectors, and they did most of the work for us. It was not required of me to create lesson plans, formulate activities, or test my students. Anything that was used as learning material for them was provided by my personal job assistant. The syllabus was also very different from what I remembered as a kid. Children were no longer taught to read, write, or even solve simple arithmetic because all of that could simply be provided by their own personal assistants. But even if I were to teach them, I have forgotten how to. That is why my job was to follow the instructions of my personal job assistant. They were keeping us busy.

I pushed through the front doors of the campus and into the sanitary chamber, where large gusts of air lifted the dust and soot that had stuck onto my clothing and picked it up through large suction pipes on the ceiling. I then stepped onto a pad to disinfect my shoes and lifted my arms in a T position before I was thoroughly sprayed with disinfectants. When the LED light at the exit of the chamber shone green, the automated locks clinked, and I entered the campus. After the termination of vaccination programmes, schools began to implement even stricter sanitary rules than hospitals, as children were at their most vulnerable here. Anyone who had the privilege to be a parent was instructed to keep their child at home even if they had the mildest discomfort. Because of that, most times the classes were barely at half their capacity. But it isn't like the children are learning anything meaningful anyway.

I made my way down the dimly lit main corridor and towards the north wing where my classroom was located. On the right, the corridors were lined with the students’ lockers, and the occasional doors that led to a bathroom, sanitation room, or infirmary. On the left were the classroom doors, each one with a color-coded sign above it used to guide teachers and students to the right room. I could remember that before they used numbers and letters. Outside each classroom, on the left of each door, the students were lined up waiting to be let in by their teachers. They had been instructed to arrive 30 minutes before us. The corridors were silent except for the sound of my boots on the tiled floor. I passed by several other teachers on the way to my room, all of whom had the same tasks in mind. They were all a lot younger than me, and most of them had no memories of the times before. That is why they avoided me. Memories are infectious.

My classroom is marked by the color gray. The students I work with were lined up, face down, waiting for me. I walked past them and turned the knob to open the classroom, thinking that they probably did not even know that the color is called gray. They probably were not even aware of what colors are. I switched on the classroom lights and left my small handbag at the front desk. There was no laptop for me to use, but I had to turn on the interactive screen at the front of the classroom to activate my personal job assistant. The bell still had not rang, so I decided to use the time to distribute a pencil and paper to each child’s desk. I savoured each second without my assistant, loving the idea that I was making it wait. That it was dependent on me. Of course, that was far from the case; everything I was doing was within what I was instructed to do every morning before the bell rang. Once it did, though, I instinctively ran to turn on the screen.

‘’Good morning, Mr.Clarence! Excited for another day at work! Have you distributed the required pencil and paper for each student?’’

‘’Yes.’’ I was still annoyed that they hadn't changed the old system. There was barely any male teachers left.

‘’Great work, Mr.Clarence! It is advised that you now let the students take their respective places.’’

‘’Yes.’’ I responded mechanically and rang a small bell at my desk to signal the students that it was time for them to come in. They walked in single file, each of them taking their place at the same desk they had sat in the day before, standing heads down waiting for the next instruction. There was no speaking between us. We had not been told to do so.

‘’Good morning, class! It is now advised that you sit down and face the screen.’’

There was a screech of sliding chair legs against the floor as everyone sat down almost in complete unison. I remained standing. I had not been advised to sit down.

‘’Today’s first lesson will be history! It is advised that you click on today’s history lesson page, which you will find in the bottom left corner of the screen, so that we can begin our class. After that, you are advised to sit down until further notice.’’

I did what I was instructed and took a seat on my armchair. A video started playing on the screen, which began explaining the technological development of personal assistants. Even though I am supposed to be watching, my attention is directed to the students in front of me. I study the faces beneath the masks. They are smooth and pale, without the scars of age, some with dimples, others with cracked red lips. But all of them have the same lamenting, vacant eyes, staring into the screen as if almost in a trance. And what were they even staring at? To them, there was no history that was being taught before the Reformation. To them, nothing existed before the Reformation. They were all different. But somehow the same. All of them united by the same lack of memory. My indicator ring began to buzz. It was even more dangerous to remember outside.

3

Lunch was perhaps the busiest part of the day. We all knew what we were doing; we had been through it hundreds of times. Nonetheless, it was engraved in my mind just how crucial it was that lunch went by its required protocol. We all had to escort our respective classes to the gym, which had been repurposed into the campus canteen. The gym had 12 entrances, each of which was equipped with its own sanitation chamber where teachers and students had to be disinfected. Upon entering, I led the students through the large hall, which was divided into hundreds of small concrete pods, with glass doors facing the narrow corridors in between them. These were the eating pods, and the only place where students could remove their face masks and eat their food. The food had already been served for them in the morning by campus staff, and all I had to do was take them to the corridor with the gray colored signs. From there, the students knew exactly which room they had to enter. How, I was not exactly sure. After the glass doors had been closed, but not locked to ensure access in case of emergencies, I began patrolling up and down the tight corridor to ensure that everything was going in order. As I paced forward, my eyes glanced from side to side into the blank cubicles. They were all furnished with one small desk onto which a tray of food lay. The students sat in chairs, masks removed to their side, heads down, eating their food. No, not eating. Rather, consuming. Ravenously. Food was a privilege. Better to make most of it.

I made my way to the last cubicle in my row when I noticed something odd. At first glance, the left cubicle looked just like any other. However, the student had shifted their chair at such an angle that I was not able to see what they were doing. The sides of the food tray were sticking out behind its narrow shoulders, but the food was still wrapped in its aluminum foil. The food hadn't been touched! I froze in my place and stared at the child. The straps of its mask could still be seen digging into its nape. What could be so important that it hadn’t touched its food nor removed its mask? I had to check; it was out of the ordinary. But is it really an emergency? Opening the doors would immediately set off the alarms, and the whole school would be notified. The Peace Enforcement would be notified, and they would arrive soon after. They would conduct a thorough investigation, and I, and perhaps the student, would most definitely face consequences. I decided that I should first try getting a better look. I carefully crouched towards the very edge of the glass door so that I would be able to see the desk more clearly. The child had short hair, and his tie was hung over the arm closest to me. It was a boy. But what was he doing? I remained in my position for a few moments, quickly looking back and checking my ring to ensure I hadn't aroused any suspicion. And that's when it happened! The boy moved the hand that was facing me towards what was directly in front of his chest and gently lifted something with his index finger and thumb. For a brief second, the object remained in the air until it flopped down, only to be once again hidden by his silhouette. But it had stayed up long enough for me to figure out what it was. Unmistakably a page. A page with fine black letters. Letters that were waiting to be read. I moved back, grasping my chest, trying to hold my heart from bursting out. He was reading! I had not seen anything that could be read in years, let alone expected to see a child reading something! My curiosity turned into an obsession as I attempted to fight my whole body and force myself to forget what I had just seen. I tried walking away, but I couldn't shift my eyes from the boy’s back. I didn’t understand. I had been so good at forgetting things. Why couldn't I just forget this? Instead I started to remember. I started to remember the rows of books in my parents’ study. How I would run my hand along the leather-bound backs and feel the indented letters that told me what world I was going to explore next. How I would open up a book and my nostrils would fill with the smell of dried ink and dust. How I would lose myself in the numerous stories I had forgotten to know, but not forgotten to love. I wanted to experience that again. That freedom to do what I love.

‘’Where did you get that?’’ I asked bluntly. He jumped in his seat, startled, and quickly shut what I could now see clearly was a book. It made a soft thud. I missed the sound of that thud. Almost immediately after that, the siren began to screech across the whole gym. He turned his face towards me, stood up, and his bright blue eyes opened wide with fear. He quickly caught a glimpse of me and looked down, clearly wondering whether to follow protocol or not. Perhaps if he followed what he had been advised, from now on his punishment might be lighter. But I had ignored anything I had ever been advised to do the minute I walked into the cubicle. With my action, I had put both mine and his life in immediate danger. But I wasn't scared, nor, frankly, did I feel any guilt. All I wanted was an answer to my question.

‘’Where did you get that book?’’ I asked again, this time more loudly so that I could be heard over the sirens. The boy immediately looked up at me, but this time his eyebrows showed interest rather than fear. Maybe it was the word I hadn’t said since the Reformation. Book.

‘’You know what that is?’’ his high voice pleaded as he turned and cautiously picked up the book behind him, holding it as if it was living. He knew very well that to me and him it was.

‘’Yes.’’ I nodded back.’’A long time ago I remember reading them. I want to read a book again. There is nothing quite like it.’’ I was trying to keep as still as possible, although the sound of the siren was drilling at the back of my mind. It was reminding both of us of our fate, and yet all our energy was focused on the object in his hands. He looked down at it and looked back up at me, this time with a faint smile.

‘’I can show. But you will have to take me there.’’ he attempted to say confidently, but what it really came off as was a plead rather than an order. I grabbed his elbow and moved my hand down to clasp his hand, leaving him to hold the book with one hand. I dragged him to the glass door and quickly began to take off my high boots. They weren’t made for running. I could already hear voices of other instructors, and the corridors were filling with students who were blindly following their emergency procedures.

‘’Show me the way.’’ I grasped his fragile hand again, and he nodded back at me. The tiles felt cold on my feet as we quickly made our way in the opposite direction of the designated entrance, and towards the only door that did not have a sanitary chamber or lock attached to it. I pushed the heavy fire exit doors, only to set off the next set of fire alarms in the campus behind me. But as run out of the school grounds, the only thing I could think about was if I was really going to get the chance to read again.

4

My thumb had gone numb with the vibration of the ring, which hadn't stopped since we turned the alley from the bus station that takes me to work every day. We were running so fast at the beginning that I had ignored it, but now that we had slowed down our pace, it had really started to become a nuisance. The dust storm had now cleared up, and the wind had calmed, but the air was hazy like always, and the narrow streets between the buildings blocked out even more of the nonexistent sunlight. Maybe it was because my blood was still rushing, but I felt unusually warm.

‘’Why don’t you take it off?’’ he asked me, looking at the flashing red light. I didn't remember feeling any ring when I held his hand, and sure enough, when I looked down to inspect his, it wasn't there. He must have caught on to me because he almost instantly responded.

‘’I take it off when I read, or go to the book place. Every time my personal safety assistant asks me, I just say it was malfunctioning or that the ring is too tight again. I usually get away with it because I am growing or because I am growing, or some codswallop like that.’’

Codswallop. I don't remember the last time I heard someone say that word. What did it mean? Codswallop. I loved the way it rolled off my tongue, almost like a guilty pleasure. I said it a few times under my breath, and he laughed. I forgot what it was like to see someone laugh.

‘’I am sorry, I read it in a book, Ulosees or, umm, Ulinsses it was called. Yes, Ulinsses! I think I read it from there. My grandpa gave it to me. He also told me not to use it, but it's so fun!’’

Grandpa? That can’t be right. I looked back at the boy as he began to skip on the cobbled street, avoiding the narrow gaps as he went. Of course he would have a grandpa; he was just a child. But no child had grandparents anymore. They were all cleansed. They held too many memories.

‘’You should really remove it though.’’he pointed at my ring.’’I am pretty sure they can track us with that thing, and it isn't very far from here.’’

I couldn't believe I was following the direction of a kid. What would my personal task assistant say? What would my personal thought assistant think? The ring had gone on for so long now that I would probably have to be permanently cleansed after this anyway, so it did not really make any difference. I nudged the ring from my thumb and felt years of constriction fade as I threw it towards a sharp corner of a street we had just passed.

‘’Your grandfather. Is that where you are taking me?’’ I asked after a few minutes of silence.

‘’What. Oh, no! I mean it’s where I get most of the books that we read together. He used to do it himself before the Cleansing, but he now has to pretend he is ill so that the department of Cleansing does not detect him.’’ he held his stomach and laughed again.’’ Anytime they or the Peace Enforcement are around the house, he starts acting super crazy, and sometimes it’s so funny I can barely hold myself!’’

So that is how he has evaded cleansing for so long, I thought. Pretty brave of him to put up the act for so long. Some might even consider it reckless. He is putting his whole family at risk. But who am I to be the judge of that?

‘’So how did you get into reading?’’ he was obviously trying to start a conversation, maybe to take his mind off the fear that was also slowly engulfing us.

‘’I..I don’t remember. ‘’ I returned, and surprisingly my voice sounded apologetic. I too wanted to take my mind off the fear. But I really couldn't remember how exactly; I just remember how it felt when I was reading.

‘’That’s fine. Don’t feel bad. My parents stopped reading a long time ago, and they also forgot.’’

As I continued to follow him, we began to take more and more turns, and the streets became tighter and tighter. My eyes occasionally took me upwards toward the gap of grey sky that was lined on each side by tall apartment buildings and tiny windows. I wasn’t worried about being watched, though, because all of them were sealed shut, as per usual instruction. Soon a few abandoned stores began to appear at the lower floors of the buildings, reminiscent of a time when people could freely go out and purchase whatever they liked. Just like I was going out to get a book. He finally stopped at a tight alley which ended abruptly by a high wooden fence and a pair of large green dumpsters in front. The whole place smelled of rotting meat. Right before the dumpsters was a small tin door. The door had a signage which was blurred out, and it was left slightly ajar. His eyes were riveted at the small dark gap between the door and the wall. I didn't like the expression on his face.

‘’It isnt supposed to be open.’’ he looked up at me .’’And the last time I was here the sign read electric room.’’

I did not respond. If you leave a sign with letters outside your door, you literally turn into a walking target, I thought. He must be waiting to see what I would do. Yesterday I would have perhaps chosen to turn away. But yesterday I didn't know that I could still read books. And somehow you feel braver knowing there wouldn't be any tomorrow. He stepped aside as I gently pushed the door open, which cracked loudly and echoed in the dark room ahead. We were instantly hit by the foul smell of rot. I guess it wasn’t coming from the dumpsters.

‘’Breathe through your mouth,’’ I said back to him and quietly stopped into the dark space. The dim light from outside wasn't doing much to help guide me, and I began to feel around the walls for some sort of switch.

‘’I will feel around the other wall.’’ I heard him say feebly. My fingers ran through the cold, moist wall, mistaking the occasional holes in the plaster for a switch. The more we made our way inside the room, the darker it got. Suddenly my feet caught onto something stiff and smooth, and I fell into a small cold puddle on the floor, making a small splash as I went.

‘’Are you okay?’’ a whisper sounded to my right. Silence.’’ I think I found the switch.’’

An old bulb flickered a few times before filling the room with a muggy yellow hue. I had expected to see a room lined with bookshelves and whatever else you would normally find in those buildings that held books in the days before. Instead, the center of the room was filled with charred wooden remains, burned remnants of what perhaps had been in the room the last time the boy was here. I then heard him scream. Even through the yellow light, even through his mask, I could see all the red leave his face, turning white as a sheet. His mouth began to tremble uncontrollably, and his blue eyes filled with tears as he pointed down at me. I looked behind me and saw a white fabric bag, at the base of which my feet rested. This is what I must have tripped on a moment ago. The bag was shaped in a human-sized cocoon, and it was left in a sitting position against the wall. Facing forward, in the bright red was the outline of a mouth and two eyes. The blood from the face inside had seeped through the white fabric and left the imprint. My eyes shifted down to my hands, only to see that the puddle that had broken my fall was equally red, seeping towards the lower end of the cocoon, which I was now sure held a body inside. I stood up, but I wasn’t scared. My eyes looked around worryingly for the boy, whom I heard retreat outside the room. What if this was all a trap? What if the boy was a trick put by the department of Cleansing to test my abilities to follow instructions? I have heard many stories of children betraying their own parents this way. I had failed at everything, and now I was bound to be cleansed. But then I remembered what I was really here for. I was here to read. To finally read! To finally do something because I chose to, not because I was instructed by some dictatorial assistant! I was suddenly filled with rage, and I rushed out of the room, forgetting about everything I had just seen. Above all, I felt betrayed.

‘’You lied!’’ I hissed at him through grinding teeth. It didn't matter to me that he was sobbing and shaking all over. I felt in my right that he should suffer.’’You promised to take me to the book room! You lied!’’

‘’I didn’t, I swear!’’ he stammered, choking as he struggled to swallow.’’This is the book room! Or at least it was. I don’t know what happened. I think that corpse was the librarian’s, Mr.Stagmire. Maybe they found him. I am sorry, I am sorry…’’ he broke into tears once again. I couldn’t be sure if he was telling the truth. There was no way for me to be sure. But for some reason I believed him. Why would someone risk his life so deliberately to read a book? And of all places in school? And why would he willingly agree to help when he knew it was a violation of the code? The more I thought, the more I convinced myself it was all a ruse. But this time I decided that I won't think. I decided to go for another technique I was attempting to remember. Instead, I decided to feel.

‘’You said your grandfather is the one who taught you to read. You said you read books together in your house.’’

‘’Y..yes.’’

‘’Take me to your house.’’

5

‘’Grandpa, it's me! I brought a friend!’’ he exclaimed as he unlocked the front door and we entered the apartment. It smelled of boiled eggs and something I couldn’t quite identify, but it reminded me of my grandparents. Their faces had evaded me, but not their scent. The boy led me through what would have once been called the living room. For the large part, it resembled my lodging. The walls were a pale white, all paint or wallpaper scrubbed off, and the tiles on the floor resembled those of a hospital bathroom. The kitchen was snugged in the right corner, a bit bigger than mine, and with a stove. Not one, but two large wardrobes lined the rear walls of the room, and three single beds were arranged to form a U shape, where I guessed the boy and his parents slept. I looked longingly at the front wall. Unlike me, they had two windows because this was considered a family unit. They were tightly shut, but an LED lamp centered in the ceiling made up for the lack of sunlight. It was empty. His parents must still be at work.

In the tight gap on the wall between the bed closest to the windows, I saw a narrow wooden door that was left half open. He led me to this door, and we went straight in. I walked into a cramped, windowless room that, unlike the main room, was lit up by a small bulb hanging with wires from the wall, similar to what I had in my single unit. There was one wardrobe, significantly shorter than the ones outside, and contrary to what I had imagined, the walls weren't overflowing with shelves of books. At the center of the room was a single bed with a small bedside table on its right. On the bed lay a thin figure. It was mostly covered by a thin blanket, though I could clearly make out the body, feet, and arms as they stuck out from underneath. Leaning on the wall, supported by two pillows, was the neck and face of the oldest person I had seen since the Cleansing. He appeared to be at least 20 years older than me, if not even more. I could tell by his almost completely white hair, with the occasional silver strips left on his eyebrow and beard. His skin was so wrinkled that by itself it had molded and defined the contours of his eyes, cheeks, and mouth, all of which appeared indented. He looked so thin that if it wasn't for his wrinkles, I would probably be able to see the outline of his skull and bones. His lips were shriveled like a prune, and his eyes were red with strain. His neck was arched in such a twisted position that I wondered how it had not snapped off. As I took all of this in, my eyes began to water. It wasn't because I was witnessing a man in his deathbed. Rather, it was because I had forgotten what it was like to see someone this old. These were tears of remembrance.

" It’s ok, grandpa. You don't need to pretend. This is my teacher. She has come for books. She is a reader.’’ The old man’s eyes, which were blue like his grandson’s, opened wider than his sockets. With great effort he shifted his arched neck and back up against the pillows, straightening his posture and providing the illusion of greater confidence. His mouth reshaped into a faint smile, pulling at his wrinkles and clearing up his face. It was almost as if he had metamorphosed from the brink of death, back to the living.

‘’A reader, you say.’’ his voice was deep and sounded like sandpaper. It was followed by a wet cough which lasted about a minute, leaving him gasping for air. Only now did I notice he didn’t wear a mask. ‘’I never took a teacher for much of a reader.’’ he looked at me condescendingly. I wasn’t sure whether or not I meant to be offended by this remark, so I did not respond.

‘’But she is grandpa! We went to the book room, but it was all gone.’’ he made his way closer to his grandfather’s bed and sat on the edge facing him.’’The shelves, the books, all burned down. I…I think even Mr.Stagmire is dead. ‘’

‘’No, no, do not fret, my dear boy. Mr.Stagmire is alive and well. He himself had grown anxious that the Peace Enforcement had discovered his secret and told me that he began taking out as many books as he could save. Mr.Stagmire is now long gone, and so are the books along with him. I assure you that the body was of someone else, placed there with the purpose to only scaring you away. But tell me, why would you go there without my permission?’’

‘’She was looking for books.’’ the boy pointed back at me.’’ So I took her there.’’

‘’It’s true.’’ I nodded my head in confirmation, but my eyes were locked on his grandfather’s. For some unknown reason, I felt the need to be completely honest with him. His red eyes were staring back at me, slowly rotating as I felt how he searched my body and soul with his look. I wanted him to like me. I wanted him to love me.

‘’I am afraid that you won’t find what you are searching for here.’’ he spoke to me, but he directed his eyes back to his grandson.’’As soon as Stagmire shared his concerns with me, I made sure to get rid of any book left in my possession.’’

I should have been mad; I should have been screaming and stomping just like I was back at the alley in front of the book room. I should have also been skeptical. It somehow seemed too good to believe that his grandfather knew the reason behind everything that happened to us. But for some reason I just accepted what he had told me. It wasn't out of defeat, however. I think it was out of understanding. His grandson, however, had a different response.

‘’What! Why! But I had so many more books to read! So many more things left to learn! If I can’t get anything from the book room, and I know I can’t get books from you either, how am I supposed to read!’’

‘’Calm down, child. Please, remove that mask of yours and breathe normally. You are suffocating in that thing. You have to learn that we can not always have what we desire. Therefore, we have to find a way to substitute our wants with what is available for us.’’

‘’But what could replace books?’’

‘’Why stories, of course! Isn't that what books are? The collection of stories, experiences, and knowledge from people all over the world. You hold those same stories in your mind. All you have to do is not allow yourself to forget them.’’

‘’Oh, oh, grandpa! Tell us a story of the time before the Reformation.’’ his grandson exclaimed and stood up from the edge of the bed in excitement. I hadn't realised when I too had sat down at the end of his bed, leaning forward and barely touching the soles of his feet. I also hadn't realised when I had taken off my mask.

‘’Alright, alright.’’ he laughed drowsily and smiled softly at me.’’One story shouldn’t take too long. This is a story of my childhood. A time when the sun shone bright, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. A time when the grass was green and the meadows flowered in spring. A time when you could walk outside and breathe…’’

________________

‘’Clarence! Where are you, Clarence? Come here!’’

I had heard my mom’s voice call for me from the kitchen below. ‘’Just a second!’’ I called back from my room. As usual, she couldn't have chosen a more unsuitable moment to ask for me. Especially because I was just about to have an adventure of my own. It was her fault. She had read me stories of children who lived in a magical world where they never grew up, and how any regular kid like me could end up there, if only I reached out the window long enough. Of course, my mom made it very clear that I was forbidden from leaning out my window sills and that if I did so I would only fall and get hurt. But what my mom didn't know was that I had another plan. My feet dug into the edge of the metal frame, as the breeze blew at my white shirt and curtain drapes tangled around my body, almost as if they were trying to hold me back. But at this moment there was nothing that could hold me back. Because I had one goal. To climb to the top of the big oak tree that branched right outside my window. It had always tempted me, but now that I knew that the higher ground I gained, the better my chances were of flying to enchanted lands, the urge had become irresistible. Careful planning had gone into this endeavour. I had spent a few hours creating tight knots, bedding and whatever else I could find in my room that resembled rope. After having made something long enough to reach the tree, I stood for several minutes outside my window and practiced throwing the string in such a way that it would wrap at the base of the branch directly above me. Having finally achieved this, I had to only complete the last step, a swing towards the base of the tree. I tugged at my makeshift rope one more time, testing if it could hold my weight, and bent my knees, thrusting myself up and out of my window. For a brief second, my dream had come true; I was flying. This moment of euphoria, however, was quickly interrupted as my body collided with my target, the tree trunk. As I slammed into it, I quickly wrapped my head and legs around it, digging my toes and fingers into the sharp bark. I could not cover the tree’s width, but I somehow scraped my way up towards the nearest branch that I could get a hold of, which happened to be where I had hung my rope. I hoisted myself up onto it and started meticulously making my way up towards the crown of the tree. I thought I heard my mother’s voice again, but none of that I had an important mission at hand. The higher I climbed up, the denser the thicket became, and the narrower the branches of the tree’s crown became. They scraped my face and arms, tore my skirt and blouse. But I didn’t mind. I could see my target, an opening of leaves right above me, with three branches I could support my weight on. I took the best route up to them, and hoisted myself one final time before slowly standing up and sticking my head through the foliage. As I did so, a gust of fresh, cool air hit my scratched nose and cheeks and filled my lungs with the sweet sensation of success. It was the highest I have ever been in my life. I thought I could see the whole world from here. The cows from the fields on the right, once towering over me, could now fit at the base of my palm. Right in front of me, I could see the patch of forest that stretched around our home, spotting the nests of birds on the trees that now appeared short. Behind me, I could see the tiles on the roof of our house and the chimney gently puffing white smoke from the kitchen below. Yes, I had achieved my goal and conquered my fears. But most importantly, at this moment I felt free.

________________

The room was almost pitch black except for the little light escaping through the door from the room next door. There was no one on the bed behind me. I was certain of this because now I was the one lying on it, with my face gazing at the dark ceiling above. I could just about make out the shape of the light bulb hanging from it. I don’t remember when the grandfather and his grandson had left the room, or why they did it. Frankly, I don’t even remember what story he had told. Through the door I could hear the ever-approaching sirens. Perhaps they were the Department of Cleansing. Maybe the Peace Enforcement. It was definitely one of both. I wasn’t sure how they found me. It is possible that they tracked me from my ring and figured it out. Wait, no, I threw that out. It could be that they called them on me. I am not mad, however. I understand; anything to save your skin. It also wouldn’t be very difficult to figure out where I was, considering that the only child missing from campus was living here. A yesterday me would have been terrified. Would have wanted to know if I was being betrayed. But none of that mattered to me anymore. I was ready to be cleansed. After all, I had won. I had remembered…

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, hosted by Hashtag Kalakar, is a prestigious event celebrating creativity and innovation in writing. This global platform encourages writers of all levels to present their unique voices and perspectives through poetry, short stories, essays, and other creative forms. The competition is a testament to Hashtag Kalakar's commitment to nurturing and showcasing literary talent across the globe.

We extend our heartfelt gratitude to Denislav Dzhendov for sharing "Pages of Memory" with us in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Through this poignant short story, Dzhendov has illuminated the profound impact of memory and storytelling. Thank you, Denislav, for your contribution to this celebration of creative expression.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.