The bright white neon light pierced her skull like a bolt and burned on her eyes like drops of acid. It wasn’t so much the light but much more the smell that revealed the secret of where she was. The lingering odour of sanitiser filled the stuffy hospital room and it remained on her tongue like a thin film of oil. She did not feel her body, it was as if her limbs did not exist anymore, but there was a sense of being naked, exposed, vulnerable, empty. With the most effort she ever excreted in her life, she slowly turned her head to the side. It must have looked like she was moving in slow motion and it took her all the energy left in her neck. There was a tube sticking out of the left wrist. She remembered vaguely the pain as the silver needle penetrated the outer skin, was forced through the tough connective tissue and cracked open the vein. Everything from that moment on was blurry, confused, fading in front of her eyes like watercolour stretched out over too much canvas. “Why am I here again?”, “What is happening to me?”, “What is going on?” these questions kept rotating in her mind, round and round, faster and faster like a carousel. She started to feel her heart beating against her chest. There was metal clacking sharply, like a tiny toolbox full of torture instruments carried around on silent, barely audible footsteps. “There are people here”, she thought to herself. A low, harsh female voice broke the tension: “Do you want the CP1 blade or the CP2, Sir?”, “I guess the CP1 will do” muttered a man with an Indian accent. There was some disinterest, a hint of apathy in the Indian man’s voice which didn’t give her the confidence she needed. In fact, it made her a lot more nervous, causing her heart to beat even faster. The mechanic beeping matched her accelerated heartbeat. She opened her mouth to scream, to plead, to beg the man just to stop. Silence. Not a single sound came from her vocal cords, it was like she was bewitched, robbed of her power to speak. There was sheer panic creeping up her back and a shadow of pathetic helplessness overcame her like a powerful cloud obscuring the sky. The neon light and the smell and the tension and the clacking and the heartbeat, everything joined gloriously together to form a horrific harmony. There was no pain as the blade cut across her temple but she was aware that she was open. Blood started to flow and the sizzling sound as well as foul smell of burning flesh took over the room. The last thing she hear was the sound of a small, fast spinning drill, like one would hear in a dentist chair. She didn’t notice anything anymore. A last thought echoing in her haunted mind: “This is the price I’ve paid for peace of mind”. She was in a different world, a different universe. When the tiny drill penetrated the amygdala there was only darkness. She was no more. --- Even though Daisy turned 33 today, she still looked forward to her birthday like a child. Full of excitement, joy and pure happiness. Daisy was the kind of person who could find joy in the little things in life. Not that she did not enjoy the big things, her great job at the marketing agency, the beautiful flat in Marylebone, the dream holiday in Thailand and her favourite Gucci bag but she was able to find beauty in the small things. Her heart filled with joy when a stranger in the tube smiled at her, she loved to see the ducks in Regents Park grow up, the smell of old books, the goosebumps the perfect song left on her arms, the taste of handmade pasta, the little smile listening to her friend Kelly tell the same story over and over again, how a painting could deeply move her, make her feel. It is an art to get pleasure from the unimportant moments in life and Daisy was a master at it. It’s what made Daisy Daisy. The last year had been the best year in her life, no doubt. You might think that was because last year was a year full of little things and you would be partially correct. There were a lot of little things Daisy enjoyed but there was one big thing: Love. Most Londoners find love or what they perceive to be love in one place. Online. The efficiency of swipe match, text, coffee, text, drink, text, dinner, kiss, bed, bottomless brunch is just too appealing for people without time and no-one has time in London. But Daisy wasn’t on any dating app, she just didn't bother and was a romantic after all. Her mothers constant question about settling down, marrying, kids, did not upset her very much. She was happy and always knew deep down in her heart that the right guy would come magically along. Daisy was right. Marylebone High Street was covered in lights, one could see the breath of people walking hand in hand along the street with their rosy cheeks, pubs were making a killing selling mulled wine and Pret had launched its special turkey cranberry brie sandwich. Daisy was alone though and was neither queuing at Pret or heading to the Pub, she was entering her favourite place in the whole world. The ancient book store looked nothing like a highstreet place of commerce but like the library of an Oxford College. The store was not very big at all but Daisy could get lost in here. She loved to spend time alone in the dusty classics section, intimate in an armchair together with Wilde, Dickens and of course Queen Austen. She always read the books but rarely bought them. This time she was lost in ‘Persuasion’ when a tall, handsome man walked into the classics section. She looked up from her book and their eyes met. He had black hair, chestnut brown eyes full of kindness and he smiled at her with the biggest, most genuine smile. Daisy could not help but smile shyly back but did not have the strength to say anything. The man did not say anything either but picked a book and left the section. Daisy was left slightly annoyed but managed to dive back into the world between the pages. Hours passed and when she hurried out of the store the old lady behind the counter called her: “Daisy have you got one second for me?” Daisy turned with an enquiring look and the old lady gave her a wrapped book with a wink: “From a secret admirer.” Daisy ripped open the wrapping paper and saw Cervantes’s masterpiece Don Quixote. On the first page she saw a handwritten inscription: “If you want to get to know a bigger clown than the Ingenious Gentleman Sir Quixote of La Mancha, I’d love to take you out for a coffee, xoxo James (02072242295)”. Daisy blushed. What followed was a year that if it was turned into a movie its stars would be Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts. Daisy and James were in love. The two rode on the underground exploring the quirkiest neighbourhoods in London. They spend endless hours walking through Regents Park, even naming every single duck. Daisy would read to James from her favourite books while he was resting on her lap. James was a phenomenal dancer, they hit all the spots in town and danced through the playlists. The two could probably have entered MasterChef or opened an Italian restaurant that's how good their cooking had become. Daisy loved the Tate Modern and the National Portrait Gallery and so the happy couple would spend their Sundays exploring ancient and modern masterpieces. Daisy enjoyed the little things with all her heart. It was heaven on earth and even though James had become a little more silent and nervous over the past weeks she wanted to live with him so badly. She hoped that James would ask her the big question today on her birthday. He said he really needed to talk to her after all. James did not look into Daisy’s eyes. He couldn’t. For weeks he had been thinking about it but there was nothing he could do. Daisy immediately knew that something was off. It is a mystery how some people can stop loving out of the blue, turn cold in a moment or can flip a switch when the hormones wear off. James was one of those people and he had stopped or decided to stop loving Daisy. You might be thinking, surely he could wait till after her birthday to tell her. Yes, it was shit timing, but he just could not take it any longer. There was nothing he could do. It was over and once the switch was flipped he lost all his capacity for empathy. Her ears started ringing and tears shot into her eyes. Sometimes the most rational actions hurt the most. She just could not understand. How could she have been so wrong, so committed and so hopeful. Her future was in fire right in front of her. Kelly tried to cheer her up but there was no consoling Daisy. She would cry for days and could barely get out of her bed. Daisy’s heart was crushed beyond repair and yet James would not leave her mind. He was always present, always lingering, always there. Over the coming months Daisy went from wounded to numb. She had become a shell of herself and worst of all she had lost all joy. Even though sadness had turned to apathy, her mind just could not let go of James. He was everywhere. She saw him in the tube staring out of his chestnut eyes, she saw his night black hair in the park between the trees, every painting no matter what it depicted slowly turned into his grinning face. Every song in her playlist reminded her of him. Even a bowl of Rigatoni triggered her memory like a dagger to the heart. There was no peace and no there were no little things anymore to give her joy. She could not go on like this anymore. Daisy opened her browser and typed: “how to erase my memory”. The second result read as follows: “Healthy Volunteers for Clinical Trial Needed - Surgical Memory Reset - Harley Street, London”. Like a robot Daisy clicked on the link, accepted the cookies, registered herself, signed the waver and got an appointment. Almost automatic she left her flat, walked to Harley Street. It was only a stone throw away. Mechanically she walked up the stone steps, knocked on the gigantic wooden door and stepped inside. For a brief moment she was blind; the bright white neon light pierced her skull like a bolt and burned on her eyes like drops of acid.