I, Jonathan Bylow, was born with a special ability.

One that I used to call Absolute Memory for most of my teenage years. Only to rename it later, calling it Absolute Soul Storage. Just from the names alone, someone can probably infer the effects of my superpower, but I’m going to tell you what it does anyways.

It integrates all of my memories, knowledge, and experience into my mind and soul. It also organizes that information as efficiently as possible, practically making it impossible to forget something, even if it is a physical skill... unless I want to.

That’s right I can even choose to erase a memory from my soul, or lock it up, or fade it out. I can almost manipulate my memories and experiences however I want.

It even allows me to bypass any mental inhibitors, granting me clear knowledge and memory of what I did the first (and last) time I got drunk at a party. Something that I most definitely should have, and wished I had, forgotten. Though my experience of that night was befuddled, and my memories looked wacky. The reason being that my ability only records what I felt and perceived through my own senses, and if my senses are impaired, then my recollection of that night was recorded through my impaired senses.

Though there are limits:

1) I cannot bring back or restore an erased memory, knowledge, or experience.

2) If I fade out a memory/experience, I can only restore it up to a certain extent. The more I have faded a memory, the less of it I can restore.

3) I cannot create a new memory, I can however modify a memory, though with limited success.

4) Lastly, if I lock up my memories with set conditions to open the locked memories, I will not be able to bypass my own mental lock until the conditions for the lock are fulfilled. This of course does not include memories, knowledge, or experiences that are locked away without a set condition. I can open them effortlessly.

All of this took one hell of a time to figure out, but by using a piece of paper, and a bunch of math problems I tested the limits of my ability to mess with my mind and soul. By writing down math equations and erasing my memory of ever doing them, I could test the limits of my power in a controlled setting.

While this power was great and all, I knew if I messed with my mind and soul too much, I could make myself crazy. So, at a young age, I swore to never erase anything. A promise that I have kept since I tested the limits of my power, because what are we but a collection of our own failures and achievements. Erasing anything from myself could cause harm to my own personal development. The most I ever did was fade the extremely traumatic or cringe-like events making them hazy, just by a bit, just to dull the pain. Though I made sure to be able to recall it enough so that I never made the same mistake again.

Nonetheless, my power helped me practically cruise my life, perfect recall is the greatest cheat in the modern world, only beat by the likes of super speed. My power was one that I kept under wraps as a result, graduating high school with a 3.9 GPA (on purpose), despite most of my time at home being used to play video games, or watching tv. College only accentuated how broken my power was, as I became a major in several languages, making me a polyglot on crack.

Why did I choose such an odd career path? Learning languages was easy for me, and anything I learned would stick permanently. Including my experience pronouncing each word correctly. All it would take was for me to say a word, a phrase once, or a letter once, then I would never say it incorrectly ever again. Then my job in life is to explore the world and translate whatever I needed to, where ever I needed to, even made a name for myself as the "natural global translator". Or the "living google translate", whichever floats your boat. By the time I was 34, I was living my dream of adventuring the world seeing all there is to see, life was practically a breeze. I even learned (and mastered) a couple different martial arts for the heck of it during my life, finding myself reveling in the combat, a new hobby gained as a result.

Then my parents died. Along with my brother and his wife.

It happened all in a plane crash, with only 12 survivors. One of the survivors being my 8 years old niece, a smart kid. Smart enough to have a relative understanding of what happened to her and her family, and that broke her more than it broke me. I was in anguish, but I had long since come to terms with mortality. Perks of being an adult, if anything I was rather more angry than depressed. Angered by the fact that they couldn't have lived longer lives. Hell, I would have traded my own life for theirs in a heartbeat, but Alice had her whole world ripped away from her.

As much as I had thought I would never take care of a child, I would be damned before I let my niece rot away in some orphanage.

"So, Alice, this is your room now," showing the child the 14 by 16 room that she now can claim as her territory. Alice gives me a hostile glare. One that she had when she first saw me at the funeral, and one that she has kept whenever she saw me.

She seemed to despise me, and I could only guess why. I have not seen my family in over 7 years thanks to my work. Though I may have kept in touch with frequent phone calls, the last time I actually saw Alice was when she was roughly 1.5 years old. To her, I was practically a stranger. She knew about me, but that didn't mean much.

"Thank," she politely replied, though with a hateful tone. She was being polite for the sake of formality.

"No problem, and ask me for anything you need, I'll do my best to help you out. In fact, to you want help unpac-"

"No," Alice sternly cuts me off. I back off and let her do her thing. In the meantime, I make some lunch.

I was craving some comfort food; mom's spicy tomato chicken curry with rice came to mind. My mom was Indian and my dad was American, as a result, they made some wild food combinations. Like a goatmeat cheeseburger with chutney, or naan taco with curry. Tomato chicken curry was one of the few dishes that my brother could actually make that rivaled my own cheat-level cooking prowess, though as the heretic he was, he would always turn down the spice.

So, I did the exact same thing my brother would have, hoping that this might bring in some familiarity and comfort for Alice. It has been a month since the funeral, there was a lot of paperwork to process before things could settle down. I doubt she has had any homely meals since then.

Though it could make her hate me even more.

"Alice, can you come out for lunch?" I waited at the door to her room for a couple of minutes, until my patience was rewarded with a response.

"Ok" It was a soft and mellow reply, she might have been crying.

I went back to the dining table and took a seat, and she followed soon after. She looked at the simple plate of food, her breath stopped for a moment, her eyes seemed to moisten with memories.

"Feed me," Alice almost whispered instinctively. A common tradition for Indian parents (mostly the mother) to feed their kids by hand. Something that my mother did sometimes even when I was 18 and going to college, something that my older brother must have emulated. However, once she noticed what she said, she froze up. I, however, took the initiative to do so anyway.

As I fed her by hand, we sat in silence, tears flowing down her face. Once she had finished her food, I pulled her in for a hug, being careful to not get any of my curry-covered fingers near her back.

"Why?" Alice questions.

"What do you mean?"

"Why are you still ok, you fly in planes all the time, and you are fine. But... the one time I go..." She was running out of tears, but her anger at me was resurfacing, one which I understood a bit more now.

"I'm sorry, those things normally do not happen. I can learn about why it happened, but it won't change the fact that it had happened to you. We were simply unlucky, you more so than I."

"We... we were going to Florida, to Disney Land with grandma and grandpa," she then looked at me with hopeful eyes, "promise me you will never get on another plane again." Trama, and an understandable one at that. Looks like I'll have to change my job, not that I already didn't have to. Can't leave the kid at home while I go meandering in another country.

"I promise that as long as you hate airplanes, I will never get on one again," as I said before, Alice was a smart kid. She didn't like the way I phrased my words but was satisfied with my promise nevertheless. "Want to watch some TV together?"

"Yesh," her voice was muffled by my shirt. I carried her to the couch and gave her the remote. I wash up my hands, grab my cold plate of food and a fork (because spoons are pointless), and sit down next to her. During which, an interesting kids' show seemed to be on a marathon run, a show called My Little Ponies: Friendship is Magic.

"I think horses are gross," Alice states, "but I like them a lot," she points at the six ponies all huddled together. "They're not perfect, and they're all so different, but they're still good friends."

"So, you have seen this show before?"

"I watched it with mom, right now they are playing all the old episodes before season 3 comes out."

"So now is the perfect time to get caught up huh?"

"Yes?"

"Good, because from now on, I'm going to be watching the show with you," Alice looked at me oddly.

"But it's a girls' show?"

"Girls can wear clothes made for boys, boys have a skirt called kilts. Don't get me started about Indians and their lungis."

"Oh," Alice hesitates but askes another question. "Can I watch Ben 10 too? Mom didn't like that one much."

"Sure! As long as it was a show made for kids, you can watch it. Though you better not forget about your schoolwork." Alice groans in response.

Yes, I gave myself a thumbs down, and I'll do it again if I have to.

I also love to incorrectly use ellipse. You have been warned.