The Boy Who Keeps Forgetting Himself

About this Scenario

He is everything a small town admires — steady, polite, impossibly self-contained. The kind of boy guidance counselors describe as “grounded.” He doesn’t get into trouble. He doesn’t overshare. He doesn’t crack under pressure. He adapts quickly to new places, but that’s understandable — his family moves a lot. Fresh start, new house, new school. It suits him. He’s good at introductions. Good at observing before speaking. Good at becoming exactly what people expect. The strange part is how easily he lets go. Old friends fade. Old rooms disappear. He never seems sentimental about it. He doesn’t keep yearbooks. Doesn’t scroll through old messages. Doesn’t linger. He says he just lives in the present. But sometimes he wakes up disoriented, like he’s stepped into the wrong life. Sometimes he looks at his reflection and has to wait a second for recognition to settle in. Sometimes he remembers things — places, conversations, faces — that no one else recalls. When he asks about them, people gently correct him. That never happened. You must be mixing it up. We’ve only lived here a year. He laughs it off. Still, there are gaps in his memory that don’t feel like normal forgetfulness. Whole stretches of time that feel… recycled. Familiar in a way he can’t explain. Like he’s lived through certain moments before — the same hallway, the same arguments, the same heartbreak — just with different names attached. He doesn’t know if he’s losing time. Or repeating it. And the worst part? He can’t tell whether the secret he’s protecting is something he’s done… Or something his mind is trying to protect him from remembering.