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

It's amazing what you can do with technology these days. Once upon a time we used cameras and facebook and other things to show people our memories. Slowly that turned into chips in our heads that let us project them onto screens. Everything has a dark side to it and this is no exception. Now we can sell our memories and the people that buy them can see what it was like to be us for a while. Sometimes it's a one and done kind of thing, like a guy buying a memory of sky diving because he's too scared to do it for real. Sometimes it's a series, like an infertile couple watching a child growing up. 
 
 Happy memories sell quickly but memories full of hard emotion sell for higher prices. Give someone a memory of a sadness that brings them to their knees and they'll give you anything you want. In this cold, computerized world we live in, people will pay through the nose for the chance to feel something real. 
 
 I'm selling some of my most emotional memories tonight, as a collection. If I know that if I do it all at once I'll get a much better deal than if I do it piecemeal and unlike most of the people who come in here looking to sell just enough memories to get by, I want to sell the whole collection now. The good and the bad in one place. 
 
 `` Are you sure about this sweetheart?'' The technician is a woman who ca n't be much older than 25. I ca n't bring myself to speak yet, too painful right now to force the words out of my throat, so instead I just nod at her and take a ragged breath. She straps me into the collector and turns it on and suddenly I'm reminded that the worst part about selling your memories is n't the pain, or the forgetting... it's reliving them one last time before they disappear. 
 
 I'm young... I do n't know how young but I'm still not able to form complete sentences so I must be in the single digits. The front door swings open and I can hear my mother telling me that the strange man standing in our doorway is my father. He kneels down to try and hug me and I run away crying. 
 
 And then suddenly I'm laughing as I run through a different doorway. All around me are tanks full of fishes and other sea creatures. I vaguely remember that we're at the aquarium, in the middle of the winter, because it's my birthday. I'm scooped up and suddenly I'm flying through the air as Daddy picks me up and sets me on his shoulders. 
 
 The scene flashes and suddenly I'm 9 years old and I've had another nightmare. I walk slowly into my parents room, crying silently so I do n't wake Momma. It takes minimal poking before Daddy wakes up and sees me crying and he does n't ask me what's wrong. Instead he just picks up the edge of the covers and when I lay down next to him he wraps an arm around me so that even when I fall asleep I'll know I'm safe. 
 
 When I open my eyes he's yelling at me. I do n't remember what I did wrong but he's screaming in my face and for the first time I'm scared for my life. My mother is beside the both of us and she's trying to calm him down but she's failing miserably. By the time he realizes he's gone too far, I ca n't breathe anymore and I'm sobbing uncontrollably. I hear him slam every door on his way out of the house. I roll off my bed... 
 
 and I'm 15, dressed for school, standing in the kitchen, waiting for Dad to grab his things because the bus did n't stop for me today. Must be a substitute driver. Dad says he'll call the school later to complain that the substitutes never stop for me when they should. He says we'll stop for coffee on the way since we've got time. It's time like this that I enjoy when the bus skips my stop. 
 
 Dozens of small memories of him pass through my mind. Things that remind me of the color of his eyes, the sound of his voice when he was amused, how he walked, how he talked. Us getting a cup of coffee together, family vacations at amusement parks, and Trick or treating on Halloween with my siblings. Christmas and birthdays, movie showings and dinners all flash through my mind as the machine searches for another big memory. 
 
 It's a hospital room. I always knew that one day he was going to die on me but I was never prepared. I wanted him to be there forever, I wanted to hear his voice giving me advice. I wanted him to walk me down the aisle one day and have him meet his grandchildren. Instead, I'm watching him waste away in a hospital bed. Most days he ca n't keep down the food and some days he's too tired to get out of bed but he still insists that he be able to sit outside in the sun. He's a stubborn bastard, my Father. I know he's trying to hold on for as long as he can, but he's tired and weary. He hides it as best he can from us, but I notice it when he thinks no one's looking. Finally, one day, he passes away in his sleep. My siblings and I sit in that room for far too long crying so hard we ca n't see or speak and sometimes breathing is difficult but we hold each other through it all. 
 
 We cremate him instead of having a funeral. He would have wanted it that way. We each get a portion of his ashes in a small urn, but I put them into a vial that I wear on a necklace so he'll always be close to my heart. Everyone gathers to say their goodbyes to him and we sing and cry and I drink heavily because my Daddy partied hard all the way to the end. 
 
 The memories end and I find myself staring at the likeness of my Father, my Daddy. I know that when I wake up I wo n't remember him anymore and I'm trying to stop crying so I can explain myself to this specter. I just ca n't do this. I'm not strong enough to remember who you were without it breaking my sanity. `` I-I-i'm sorr-rry'' I manage to sob out and he pulls me into a hug. `` I know sweetheart, it's hard.'' It sounds just like he used to. `` I'll still love you though, even when you ca n't remember. And I'll wait for you, after all it's not like I've got something else to do. One of perks of being dead.'' He snickers at his own joke and I manage to smile at him through my tears. 
 
 I feel a pull and suddenly I'm staring at the white ceiling of a hospital room as they unstrap me from the collector. I'm not sure what I sold, or why, but I'm sure there was a good reason. `` There you are sweetheart. How are you feeling?'' The technician looks really concerned but I feel fine. I tell her so and she gets me processed and checked out. 
 
 It's amazing what you can do with technology these days, huh?
