The Great Forgetting Earth is losing its memory.

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I saw a strange tiredness hanging in his bowed shoulders as my mother and I drew up to the check to get him. His snowboard was spread out farther than halfway into the halting area, as though he couldn't possibly be expected to keep an eye out for it, and he had a lifeless expression that seemed to barely register our approach.

He screamed out in the optional parlor due to a headache. It was discovered within two or three kilometers, not too far away, that he had hit his head on a stone and had stopped after attempting one of the leaps. He claimed he had no idea how long he had been out, but after regaining consciousness, he made the decision to move on

My mother was taking a deep breath in and out as she looked back at him in the rearview mirror. Her self-evident reality assessment, "You probably have a blackout," concealed the unexpected stress that had developed. Blackouts were viewed then as terrible but temporary injuries, and Jebsen had many prior blackouts that seemed to determine great and dandy. It was simpler to view his prior performance as evidence of his resiliency rather than as a risk factor for more severe mental injury. My mother advised me to unwind for a couple of days.

In any event, this time at a stoplight, we saw something different. Jebsen was completely unaware of what my mother was talking about when she mentioned the previous day's occurrences. I laughed, assuming he was teasing, but when I turned my head back to give him a smile, his expression changed to one of confusion.

We repeatedly moved forward and then turned around, thoroughly looking into the major information first — names, individuals, hazards — until we zeroed in on the period of time that separated his impeccable recollection from the events that had been cleared up: roughly fourteen days. His life had abruptly fallen over the previous fourteen days, much like a downhill current of reduced turbidity that extends off the most notable debris. I felt a great deal better knowing that everything important, everything essential to his personality, was now flawless. Evidently, it gave off the impression of being a little mishap or a typical store of daily schedules. Anyway, to get rid of the unease I sensed emanating from that scarp in his memory would be completely absurd. We roped it off with ready tape and cones in an effort to ensure that the threats have been accurately depicted. It resembled a sinkhole that shockingly scars the ground.