There it was, nestled snugly between two skyscrapers. The tiny neon sign glowed—intoxicatingly so—inviting me to enter. I could almost feel the tug it had on me. But it wasn’t so much about the glow of the neon sign as it was about what was written on it.
Memory Market.
Hesitantly, I took a step forward and then descended the long, winding stairs that the neon sign directed me to. Was this right? I had been warned about purchasing Memories—memories of people who sold them for cash. Memories that could have been artificially engineered by combining those of multiple people. But I knew now that all I wanted was a single Memory. Just one.
The long flight of stairs led me to a dimly lit hall, where an old man with a crooked back stood behind a rickety counter.
“Lookin’ for somethin’ special, kiddo?”
I almost flinched at the rusty sound of the man’s voice.
Summoning all my bravery, I replied, “Just…just a Memory of what it feels like to be loved. And not by my family.”
The old man stared at me, then smiled. “I can fix that.”
He signaled for me to move forward until we were almost touching. Then he pressed a shiny, coin-like object against my temple.
It hurt. For a few moments, it felt like my head was exploding with blinding light. Then it ended. The light vanished. And in that moment, I remembered everything.
Lira was by my side, sharing a strawberry smoothie on a bench right by the ocean’s edge. We watched the sun set, my arms around her. She smiled carelessly, as if my very presence erased every trouble in her life. A comforting warmth pulsed from my chest, spreading through every part of my body.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, we sauntered toward her house at a leisurely pace, passing beautiful sights that reflected our moods.
“I really love hanging out with you, Brody. Next week, same time?”
I couldn’t really say no, so I agreed.
That was it. I paid the cash, thanked the old man hurriedly, and walked out of the Memory Market. I had received my Memory and would never return. I had everything I needed. With a renewed spring in my step, I walked all the way home, passing the places Lira and I knew.
* * *
I spent the next four days replaying that memory in my head—at work, at home, when I tried to sleep. The Memory never left me, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
But there was something else too. Our date next week. It was almost time, and I couldn’t wait to see what other adventures Lira would take me on.
* * *
The next week arrived quickly, and I found myself walking toward the Memory Market once again. It was just so enticing. Wasn’t that what they had warned me about? Hadn’t they told me to stay away from these Memories, to keep my mind clean?
“Just this once,” I promised, though I barely heard myself.
The process repeated itself. Winding stairs. Old man. Coin-like object pressed to my forehead. Blinding light. A splitting headache. Darkness.
Then I remembered.
We walked down High Street, admiring the sights. Lira gazed at the fountains, the statues, the greenery around us, her eyes gleaming like a child in a candy shop. I followed her, but my eyes weren’t on the scenery. They were fixed on her—the most perfect being I had ever encountered.
Suddenly, a herd of dark, angry clouds swallowed the radiant sunlight, releasing heavy raindrops on both of us. I was unfazed. I pulled out a black umbrella I didn’t remember bringing, shielding us from the cold. I wrapped her tightly in my arms. I would protect her from anything.
My mind snapped back to reality. This Memory was more poignant than the last, and it took nearly a minute to regain my senses. I paid the old man as before, but something was different. As I handed over the cash, his smile looked sharper, more menacing. I thought I heard him snigger as I climbed the stairs.
When I reached the street above, the sunlight had returned, but it felt weaker, as though it were leaking through a sieve. Every face I passed seemed too real, too sharp, too impatient, too
unkind. I shoved my hands into my pockets and kept walking, but the Memory clung to me like smoke. Lira’s laughter echoed in my mind, louder than the city itself, and I realized with a pang that the real world had become an irritating blur I could barely focus on.
That night, lying in bed, I closed my eyes and pulled the Memory around me like a warm blanket. I didn’t notice the hours slipping past, didn’t hear the clock ticking, didn’t feel my own heartbeat slowing. All I could feel was the sweetness of her hand in mine, the scent of the ocean, the faint sting of rain on our cheeks.
And somewhere, deep in my mind, a small voice whispered a warning.
This isn’t enough, Brody. You’ll want more.
* * *
I didn’t even last a week. Barely three days later, I stood beneath the neon sign again. It felt menacing now, tugging at me, pulling me downward into the depths of the Memory Market.
The process repeated once more. By now, I was almost accustomed to the blinding white light.
I was back with Lira, this time on a cruise ship. We stood alone on the deck, the wind teasing her hair into wild shapes. I reached out to smooth it back, but it slipped through my fingers like smoke. She laughed, a sound warmer than sunlight.
The ocean stretched endlessly around us, silver and infinite. I couldn’t tell where the sea ended and the sky began.
We leaned over the railing, letting the wind press against our faces, as the ship sliced through the waves with a sound that was both loud and soothing. Lira pointed toward a pod of dolphins leaping in the distance, and I swore they moved in perfect rhythm just for us.
“It’s cold out here.”
Almost instantly, I wrapped my jacket around her and pulled her into a tight embrace.
The Memory ended abruptly. It took a full minute before I could move again. But I wasn’t ready to leave.
“More,” I said. “I want more.”
The old man understood. He reached into a cabinet and handed me another coin-like disc.
One after another, I pressed the discs to my temple. Each one flooded me with memories more vivid, more perfect, more impossible than the last. I lost count. Lira laughing. Streets that didn’t
exist. Rain falling at precisely the right moment. Oceans stretching forever. I couldn’t stop; I didn’t want to.
When I finally stumbled out of the Memory Market, the city was wrapped in night. The neon sign blinked behind me, almost alive, almost mocking. I walked home through empty streets, my legs heavy, my chest humming with too many moments I could no longer separate from myself.
In my apartment, I collapsed onto the bed. Darkness pressed in—outside and within—and the memories spun endlessly behind my eyes. I didn’t turn on a light. I didn’t check my phone. I simply lay there, letting time dissolve, letting the memories become everything.
Somewhere in the haze, I realized I had forgotten how many times I’d gone back. I had forgotten my work, my duties, and everything else I had once loved.
I had forgotten the real world entirely.
I lost everything.
Chua Bing Xun is a 16-year-old writer from Johor, Malaysia. He started reading at a young age and has never stopped since, reading all sorts of books. When he was 12, he found his love for writing by participating in various competitions. His successes include getting shortlisted in the Wilbur and Niso Smith Foundation’s Author of Tomorrow contest in 2025 and getting his story, “The Adventures of Forjar the Blacksmith,” published through the Young Author Award contest.
Featured image by on Unsplash.
