• Brady Hummel

Immortal in Memory

Our first date, walking across the rocks and gritty sand of Sestudo's moon, hand in hand.

The first time we made love, tipsy in the honeymoon chamber that smelled like lavender and cinnamon, floating alone above the colony.

The first time we heard those fateful words: "terminal cancer."

She joked that, when she was reanimated, she'd have a cool new tail or something exciting like that. She was trying to be strong for me.

"You need to remember to live," she always reminded me.

"Ms. Davies? Did you hear what I said?"

I look at him across the desk. "I can't pay anymore for her to stay here. I know what that means."

"Yes. I'm very sorry. Whenever this happens with one of our patients' providers, we unfortunately need to open their refrigerator and make space. Our waitlist is extremely long, you see."

The serene smirk on her face when she dreamed beside me.

The way she whispered "Agatha," her hot breath engulfing my ear.

"Would you like to see her before..."

I nod. We walk into the cathedral-like bay, a library with rows of stainless-steel coolant pods.

I put my hand on the one the cryonicist indicates is hers, feel the cold shudder through me.

"Now I have to say goodbye to you again. I tried, really I tried, but I'm not as free-spirited as you are."

I kiss the lid, imagining the warmth and taste of her lips.

"I remember it all, darling. My Natalie. I always will."


This story was written and submitted in the second round of the 2021 NYC

Midnight 250-word Microfiction Challenge. The prompt was to write a sci-fi story that included the action of opening a refrigerator and the word "tail," and I had 24 hours to complete and submit the story.

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