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It was dark.

It wasn't night time, there just wasn't anything to see, so it was dark.

A dark shape clung to the corner. It looked less like an octopus and more like a shapeless head with multiple tentacles. Not scary, efficient.

He had two tentacles on either wall, holding himself in place, the rest drooped down into the abyss. The corner, was always there, he made it, otherwise there would be nothing. He felt the coolness of the walls and it reminded him of the ocean of life, obviously not as refreshing, but better than nothing.

One of the tentacles reached down and felt for a memory. Newest ones were at the top, that's why there was only darkness. He didn't know how long he's been here, it could've been millenniums, could have been hours, it didn't make much difference anymore. The cooling touch of the walls was the only sensation he could feel, so he reached further down. He went past a few and picked one at random, it was small, fuzzy and grey, just like all the rest, he brought it out and played with it, which filled the memory with colour and movement. He didn't much like this one, so he made himself the hero and replayed it over and over, only slightly changing it each time. Once he had enough, he let the memory slowly drift back to its place, watching the colour and the lies fall away like burning newspaper, leaving only the grey fuzzy truth.

A long time ago, almost all the memories were bright and he could tell them apart without having to reach for them, now, he had tentacles permanently holding multiple memories, so he wouldn't lose track of them. He never tried counting his tentacles, but he always had enough for what he was doing. Like the roots of a tree, he thought.

Time passed. Or didn't, he was never sure, but the coolness brought his attention back to now. He reached out through the void and started feeling around the memories, remembering when this one or that were the brightest of them all. He pushed lower and felt the familiar solid feeling, he grew another few tentacles and felt all around the objects, 3 solid safes one sitting on top of the other two. He span the dials in jest; he had already spent an eternity trying to open these. He locked the memories there himself, soon after they were made, and truth be told, he was no longer interested in what was inside. If fact, he didn't want to know.

He left the safes and kept reaching further down, down to his earliest memories, when he was 4, when he was 3, after that, there was another void and below that a floor covered in photographs, some had people he couldn't remember or strangers he didnt know. He picked one up, exposing a textured, but smooth surface. He brought the photograph up, but unlike the memories, it stayed black and white, he wouldn't have recognized the small being if he didn't already know who that was; he let the photo float back down to the bottom.

There was almost nothing left and he was tired, so tired.
For the first time he let go of the walls, the four tentacles that have been holding him up willingly collapsing with relief. As he slowly drifted down, all his tentacles, and then some, without his consent, started reaching out for every memory and pulling them back in. A hoard of tentacles reached for the safes and before he could decide if he wanted to, were brought in.

All memories were collected, and as he crossed the final void, he saw a light, it was coming from the gap left by the photo that he picked up. He looked down and saw that the light was coming from his reflection.

He floated down and covered up the gap as a photo of his true self; a photo of a stranger in someone else's dream.