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“I don’t remember this wall,” Dave murmurs, eyes tracing the vaguely familiar, yet completely unrecognizable shapes. It’s a solid wall, immovable. Unbreakable. Yet he looks, and he just knows there’s something behind that wall. But what?
“Well, that’s okay,” Annie hums, “You can’t remember every wall, right?”
“I guess, but…” And she’s right. This wall shouldn’t stick out in any way from the other aimless walls. So why do the sharp edges scare him so much? Why does this lack of memory feel more significant than anything else he’s ever forgotten? Images of what could possibly be behind the wall flood his mind, and he feels the maze shift in a way near-imperceptible to the others. His mind knows what’s behind the wall, why won’t it let him see it? He can almost feel the shape of the memory when he touches it, or the absence of shape, only the outline. “Parts of this are taking on a life of its own.” Stealing his memories right from under his nose. “It’s running unchecked.”
Annie frowns. “What’s driving it?”
“My imagination?”
“Oh, please,” she groans, and he understands. He knows how insane it sounds that his imagination could spiral so far, but… he almost wishes he remembered it, no matter how bad a memory, if it meant his imagination wouldn’t run wild.