The Memory Exchange

Jonathan was a struggling artist who had just enough money to purchase a vivid childhood memory to inspire his work. The way the Memory Warehouse worked was simple enough—you could sell your memories to the warehouse and the happier they were, the more money they gave you. There was a catch, however: If you sold your memories, you forgot about them. Then, if fate was kinder to you in the future, you could go and buy those memories back for the same amount of money they were sold for. It was almost like a loan, with your memories being the collateral.

Jonathan must have been struggling for a long time because he could only remember the last few years of his life, despite only being in his 20s. The one-story shop was nestled between neon sign-filled skyscrapers and seemed to glow with an eerie luminescence. Cautiously, he walked into the Memory Warehouse. Despite its name, the store was cramped and dimly lit.

Behind the counter stood an enigmatic figure known as the Memory Merchant. The Merchant wore a mask that displayed a pixel screen face, its expressions changing as the Merchant spoke. Despite being a square of pixels, Jonathan felt the mask’s eyes bore into him, as if scrutinizing his very soul. This was a place where the past could be bought, but at what cost?

Jonathan hesitated for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest. He had heard tales of those who had gone insane after getting lost in their own memories. Yet, the allure of reliving a cherished moment from his youth was too tempting to resist.

With a deep breath, he asked the Merchant how much he needed to pay for his memory. The amount flashed on the Merchant’s pixel screen where his face had been seconds earlier. Jonathan couldn’t discern whether the amount the Merchant requested was considered large or small. As he handed the money over, he could feel his anticipation grow, waiting to know what kind of life he’d had. The Memory Merchant turned around and opened a drawer from the wall behind him. He produced a small device resembling a delicate piece of jewelry. It was a neuro-link, a conduit that would bridge Jonathan’s consciousness with the memory he had stored in the warehouse. The device’s futuristic look contrasted with the store, which looked ancient and crumbling. Jonathan wondered how they had space for everyone’s memories in that one wall full of drawers, and how they had kept them safe with just a lock on the front door.

As Jonathan placed the neuro-link against his temple, he felt a tingling sensation, like a whisper of electricity against his skin. Then, in an instant, he was transported into a memory—a bright summer day from his youth. He could feel the warmth of the sun on his skin, the cool grass beneath his fingers, and the distant sound of children’s laughter in the park. It was blissful nostalgia brought to life.

But as Jonathan spent more time in the memory, he noticed something unusual—a shadowy figure lurking at the edges, just out of sight. It was a discordant note in an otherwise perfect score. The figure seemed to be observing, waiting. Jonathan’s initial sense of joy was replaced by a creeping unease. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Slowly, then all at once, it dawned on him: This memory was not his. He was intruding upon someone else’s moments, and with that realization, the shadowy figure started creeping in closer. Panic gnawed at the edges of Jonathan’s consciousness.

Frantically, he disconnected from the memory, stumbling backward and out of the Memory Warehouse. His heart raced, and his palms were clammy. He ran all the way back to his small studio flat on the other side of town.

He knew he couldn’t let this go. He needed to understand what had happened, who that memory had belonged to, and where his memories had gone. As time passed and Jonathan’s panic started to subside, he began rationalizing the situation in his mind. He thought maybe the Memory Merchant had simply opened the wrong drawer, and Jonathan was unfortunate enough to be given the memory of someone who had something terrible happen to them.

He worked up the courage to go back to the Memory Warehouse, where he explained to the Merchant what had happened and asked him to double-check the drawer. The Merchant stood there, silent, eyes seemingly staring into Jonathan’s soul once again. Jonathan realized he had never heard the Merchant speak before, he had just carried out the transaction silently when Jonathan was there earlier.

Thinking quickly, Jonathan took out a notebook and pen from his backpack, scribbled something quickly, and slid it over the counter to the Merchant. To Jonathan’s relief, the Merchant took the notebook and started writing something back. Before handing him the notebook, the Merchant opened a different drawer and took out a different neuro-link. He then handed both objects to Jonathan. Looking at the page, Jonathan saw his original question: “What happened?” Underneath it the Merchant had written: “You saw the other side.”

The words sent a shiver down Jonathan’s spine, despite not quite understanding what they meant. He hooked up the neuro-link and felt the familiar buzz of electricity. He was transported back to the same park, except this time he was looking at it from a distance. Horror overtook all of Jonathan’s senses when he realized that he was the shadowy figure he’d seen earlier, and a young boy was now staring right at him.

He yanked the neuro-link off and started screaming with confusion and dread. Instinctively, he lunged over the counter and pulled off the Memory Merchant’s mask. Jonathan froze as a young man looked at him wide-eyed and afraid, seemingly normal . . . except for his mouth. The man’s teeth and tongue had been pulled out.

In that same instance, a flashing red light bathed the shop as an alarm siren started blowing on and off. Metal barriers slid down over the shop’s glass windows and door. A side panel that was previously hidden creaked open to Jonathan’s right, and a woman in a white lab coat emerged. The woman was short and slim, but despite her small size she had an air of importance. Her eyes were overshadowed by thick spectacles, but her expression was assuredly smug.

Smiling slyly, she finally said, “The Memory Warehouse isn’t a safe haven for memories, it’s more of an experiment. Your part in this experiment is over, and I see you’ve made better choices this time around.

“But we obviously can’t let you off the hook that easily for what you’ve done. You are to become the next Memory Merchant.”

Panic overtook Jonathan as the woman continued, “It’s genius, really. You take part in the experiment, then you serve your time away from society . . . At least you’ll finally relieve the previous participant behind this mask here . . . who can now be disposed of.”

The last thing Jonathan heard afterward were his own screams as two men in white lab coats emerged from the same panel and dragged him in.