[ WP ] Poor people are able to pawn off their memories .

The procedure was painless. I would lay on the cold, steel table and stare at the ceiling. I would count the the pockmarks and specks of dirt on its surface as the technician sat on my right, doing whatever she did with her equipment. I would go over the memory in my mind as they worked, knowing it was the last time that I would ever recall that particular moment. 
 
 This time, however, was different. This was my last Excellent Grade memory. They were others that floated around my consciousness but they were low grade and unclear, mostly just vague impressions. They were like songs that got stuck in your head: you could remember small parts but never the whole song and usually repeated the only part you could remember over and over until it drove you insane. 
 
 This particular memory was one I had promised myself to never sell. It had been a perfect day, one of the happiest I could even recall now. Every detail stood out in sharp relief to the fuzzy quality of all my other memories. The crisp whiteness of her dress as it shimmered in the early evening sunset, catching the oranges and red of the sun. The laughter of our families mingling as they drank bubbly champagne. The smells of her perfume wafting into my nostrils as she leaned close and the feeling of the air tickling my ear as she whispered secrets into my ear. The completeness of that day had made it untouchable. Until now. 
 
 I swung my feet up on the steel table, my paper gown crinkling with every movement. As I laid my head on the table and my eyes stared back up at that familiar ceiling, I went over that memory, those moments in my mind. Scenes flashed behind my eyes and I closed them tightly. I knew that this was the last straw and after this last memory, everything would be different. 
 
 The tech started her work, random beeping noises and sounds of her movements occurring behind me as I recalled the memory for the last time. As the moments of that day became blurry and unclear, a vacant feeling washed over me. My chest felt heavier and heavier. In the back of my mind, the beeps and whirs of the machinery behind me became louder and more urgent. The room seemed to shake and whirl before my eyes. 
 
 And then the procedure was over. I changed my clothes in the booth and walked to the front desk to collect my cheque. It was a quick transaction and then I was out on the street, walking to nowhere. 
 

