The empty house
Adam comes to.
His wife isn't there.
Not in the next room. Not in the house.
He goes to look for her —
and the last two weeks are missing too.
No memory of them. None at all.
To discover what happened, he'll have to search the past.
The rule
Adam is an essayist with no long-term memory.
Writing is his memory.
Nothing he lives stays with him — not unless he writes it down.
Touch a page, and he lives it again.
Not reads — lives.
The whole of it, first person, as it was.
Everything he has ever been is on paper. He keeps all of it.
The shed
Behind his house there is a shed. From the outside, you could take it in at a glance.
The door is where that stops.
Inside, it doesn't stop. Shelf past shelf, year past year — every day of a life, written down and kept.
An archive bigger inside than it is outside.
Every page in its place.
The archive, up close
Searching the past means reading it back — page by page, year by year, all of it in his own hand. Among those pages are truths he thought he left behind.
Tonight, he reads.
The list
When there's something worth reading — a date, a page, a first look — it goes to this list before anywhere else.
Coming to Steam.
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