It was some kind of anniversary for my parents. My brother in law suggests me to go get them some flowers. I go. I am in an elevator at the 50th floor. The floor numbers start changing crazily. I am aware of my surroundings, my senses are finely tuned on the world around me. Something is about to happen. The police escorts me out of the elevator and deletes all my social media accounts, which in that world also counted as proof of identity and money. It’s just a matter of minutes before I start forgetting who I am. Desperately I repeat all that is left in my memory, trying to make the memories stick.
I am now an outcast and while my case is discussed by the authorities, I have to do odd jobs to survive. One job is to help someone at the airport dispose of some luggages. I wasn’t supposed to ask any questions. I am told one luggage has a dead tiger inside and near another one I see a white rabbit. I go with my dodgy supervisor to a clinic, unaware of the reason behind our small trip. A doctor recognises my supervisor and to buy him some time to come up with a fake name and a story, I ask the doctor what is that thing in front of me that looks a lot like little rabbits coming out of mushrooms.