In a small town, there’s a store that sells memories. Your character walks in, but not everything they see is for sale.
Clara was wandering around in the streets when a sign caught her eye: “The Memory Shop, right around the corner.” She read from a sign. Gaining her interest, she decided to see what was there. The sign soon appeared. Although Clara had been here before, shopping in ever store and visiting all the bakery’s, she had never seen this shop. The sign hung above the old bakery that had been closed for years. Where the windows were always pitch black, collecting dust and cobwebs. Now, they glowed with a soft golden light, like something out of a fairy tale. A faint humming sound came, luring Clara in.
When she pushed open the door, a bell tinkled, but it was from somewhere else, somewhere deep inside the shop. The shop still smelled like warm bread, but mixed with the smell of rain. Rows of glass jars lined the shelves, each with a faint glow that constantly shifted colors. Clara couldn’t imagine anything like it; she felt as if she had just stepped into a fairytale.
Some jars held images, like moments of laughter, the blur of running through the grass, or the view from a mountain. Others had a special shimmer to them, filled with feelings like courage, heartbreak, or something like a mix of melancholy and bittersweet.
Behind the counter stood an old woman. Her eyes looked tired but filled with kindness. “Are you looking to buy or sell here?” The old lady asked Clara. “I-i-i actually don’t know,” Clara said. She wanted to look around first, trying to understand what this store was about. “Not everything here is for sale,” the old lady told Clara.
She walked past many shelves, looking at all the jars with labels on them. Some read things like “The First Day of School” and “First Words.” While admiring them, there was one jar that caught her eye. It had a faint blue light, and when she leaned in closer, she saw a younger version of herself (comma splice). A younger version of her smiles and laughs with friends on her tenth birthday, with friends whom she hadn’t seen in many years. “That-that’s me, that’s mine,” Clara murmured, still shocked to see one of her old memories.
The woman’s smile started to fade. “It isn’t yours anymore. It got left behind years ago,” he told Clara. “Can I buy this memory?” Clara asked her. The lady shook her head, saying no to Clara. “Some memories can not be bought back once they have been traded. They belong to Time now.” Clara, although disappointed, reached out to see the jar again. The memory in there showed her laughing with her friends. Her awkward smile then, she was reliving her 10th birthday again. Then, it abruptly vanished. Clara couldn’t see the memory anymore. When she opened her eyes again, the jar went dark.
The woman sighed sadly and put the jar back on the shelf. “You can’t take the memory, but you can remember it on your own again.” After hearing this, Clara left. The bell tinkled again, but this time, the sound came from above the door. She turned around to see the shop again, but it disappeared. The shop she was once in was gone; the only thing she could remember was the sound of her friends’ laughter many years ago. All that was left in her was the glowing jars and reliving memories, but once she came out, she could never go in again.
