“No!” My son cries, beginning to weep. “It- it can’t,” he gasp between sobs, “be right. Must have been a mistake.”

The nurse, with her tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, says, “I am very sorry for your loss.”

That statement wrenches me out of my shock. “I’m not dead yet,” I mutter.

“The treatment is very expensive. I’m afraid that there is only one cure, and it’s a relatively new one. You aren’t very far from the first person to be diagnosed with the disease.”

“So are you saying that there’s a chance it wouldn’t work?” I ask.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

I make the mistake of looking back at my son. His eyes are already puffy, and his gaze seems to pierce my soul. “Mom, you have to try. Even if it’s a slim chance, it’s better than none.”

I feel tempted to just let myself slip away. Why not? It’s a selfish thought, but why couldn’t my son just try to cope without me? His father passed long ago, but he has a caring aunt who adores him. But the pain in his eyes say otherwise. He needs his mother.

I take in his messy brown hair, mischievous face, and light blue eyes. I’d miss him too much to go without a fight.

I take a deep breath. “How much does the treatment cost?” I ask.

The operation will be underway soon enough. I have a sinking in my feeling in my stomach knowing what I am about to do.

“Your payment, please?” The nurse holds out a small black box.

I sigh. At times like these, I wish that the currency was something else. I’d rather give any tangible item away than my memories, but this is just the way our world works. This treatment is particularly pricey, and I’ll miss my memories dearly, this one particularly.

I nod, and before placing my hand on the box I say a silent goodbye. I just hope that it’ll be enough, my living, and that he will forgive me.

I’ll miss you, my son.

I think of him waiting for me at home, and my heart nearly breaks. I’ll come back for him. I must.

I let the memories seep out of my mind, grateful to be able to relive them once more.

_He slips and falls off of his skateboard, tears running down his dusty face. _

_“I love you, Mom,” he mumbles, his mouth full of cookie dough. _

_He cries, shoulders shaking with sobs. _

He looks up and grins. “Mom, I made you breakfast.”

_His eyes bright, he saunters through the doors on his first day of elementary school. _

“Mom, promise me something. You’ll come back home, right? The treatment will work. It has to.”

I blink. It’s over. My head feels fuzzy, and I feel like I’m missing something. There’s a puzzle, but I can’t find the final piece.

“Are you ready for your treatment?” The nurse is standing nearby, a sympathetic look on her face.

I’m driving home. The treatment was successful, so I should be celebrating, but somehow I’m not in the mood.

As soon as I open the door to my house, I scream. A boy I can’t recall ever seeing before is sitting on the couch, looking defeated. He looks to be about ten years old, with messy brown hair, a mischievous face, and light blue eyes.

“Mom! I thought you were never coming!”

Mom?

He jumps up and embraces me, tears streaming down his face.

As soon as he lets go, I take a step back.

“Who… who are you?” I ask.

He gives a forced laugh as if I’ve told a bad joke. “Your son.”

“But… I don’t have a son.”

Do I?

"Unfortunately, the transplant will cost you the most important of your memories."

Rylee glanced at her little sister lying on the bed. The monitor beeped as she blinked her eyes.

"Don't do it, Rylee, please, I'll be okay, I promise." She whispered.

Rylee looked to the floor and shifted her shoes.

"I'm going to need an answer soon. I'll leave you to think about it for now though." the doctor slipped out into the hallway.

Rylee went over to the side of the bed and kneeled down. Her sister slowly reached out and played with her hair.

"I have to do this." Rylee whispered.

"No, no you don't! I'll be okay without the stupid transplant! Please don't give up Mom and Dad's memory for me..." her sister whimpered.

Rylee softly stroaked her sister's forehead. "Mom and Dad are gone. You're the only thing I have left, Noelle. I couldn't bear to see you die."

"Yeah, yeah. But I can't watch you give up everything for me. What if something goes wrong? You remember what happened to-"

Rylee stopped Noelle. "Nothings going to happen. Do you trust me to do this?"

Noelle sighed quietly. "I trust you."

"Have you made your decision?" the doctor peeked his head into the room.

Rylee pulled herself up and gripped her sister's hand. "I have. I'll do it."

"Very good! Follow me to the room, please." the doctor smiled.

Rylee glanced at her sister then back up at him. "Is there a way we could do it in here?"

"Yes, yes of course. Let me get the machines and chair." the doctor rushed away, returning a moment later with two rolling machines and a chair.

He carried the chair over to Rylee and put it down, gesturing for her to sit.

Rylee gripped Noelle's hand tighter and sat. The doctor and a few others clicked in cords and pressed buttons. Finally, the doctor puts the cap on her head.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked.

"I am." Rylee replied confidently. Her insides shook.

"Okay. It seems like the memory of your parents is the one that is enough to pay, is that okay with you?" he wondered.

"It is." Rylee nodded.

Noelle whimpered.

Rylee turned to her. "It'll be okay." she turned back.

The doctor flipped a switch and Rylee froze. The bar on the screen slowly filled as the memory faded.

Suddenly, sparks flung from the back of the machine. The doctors and nurses blocked it from Noelle's view and panicked.

"No no no!" the doctor screamed.

A few final sparks flew and the machine dinged.

Rylee blinked and looked around in confusion. She spoke four words: "Who are you all?"

Ryder entered the shop near the center of town. It felt foreign despite the fact that he had walked past it countless times in pursuit of the afternoon bus or running late for the office. But what use had he had to notice a diamond exchange before meeting Celia?

Ryder walked up to the case where the luminous stones were displayed and waited for the dealer to acknowledge him. Fifty years ago, the idea of buying an engagement ring would have been an occasion full of joyful apprehension. He remembered his father told him about selecting his mother’s engagement ring when the Keepers had come for her mother’s belongings the week after her death. One of the new normals, being stripped of all material reminders of the dead under the pretext of protecting the population from the idleness of grief. His father described seeing it in the window, and being reminded of how clouds reflected in his mother’s blue eyes. He had not even been thinking of proposing, his father said, but when he saw that ring he knew it was right - the ring, Ryder’s mother, the life they could have together. Ryder saw a shimmer of joy in his father’s eyes for a moment before he placed the ring in the vessel held by the Keepers. They never saw it again. Ryder never saw joy in his father’s eyes again, either.

The dealer had taken out the first ring in the case. There was no need to select the one that gave him the feeling his father had felt, certain and jubilant. After all, Celia would not be putting this ring excitedly on her finger when he proposed. Engagement rings had been stolen by the Powers of the Keep, bought now to give to brides only to be surrendered at the culmination of their wedding ceremony. Along with the memories it would cost.

Currency of consciousness, they called it. The exchange of memories for goods, services - life. Cruel and calculated, the system perfectly encompassed the essence of the inhumanity that was life in Mallowkeep ever since the uprising. Ryder knew nothing different, and even if he had his memory of it had long been ceded to obtain a loaf of bread or copper pot. You learn quickly what you actually want when you have to surrender a part of yourself to obtain it. And Ryder knew he really wanted Celia.

The scanner had been placed over Ryder’s head while he was lost in thought, but he very much doubted the diamond merchant had asked for consent. A process everyone in Mallowkeep was now familiar with, they called it culling. The devices scoured the contents of one’s memories, valued them and selected ones that met the criteria for the worth required. Memory of brushing your teeth? Give it up for a postal stamp. Your first kiss? Could probably get you a designer ski jacket. More significant, the more it made your heart soar or your palms sweat, the more power it held and thus the greater the value.

The familiar buzzing sounded, telling him the apparatus had made its selection. He felt the heavy weight being removed from his head, and he stepped to the side to see what his price would be. The dealer connected the device and Ryder looked in front of him to see what memory scene he would know for the last time before he surrendered it. He had been bracing himself, knowing that to meet the cost of the ring the significance of the memory would have to be one of the highest he possessed.

Slowly, the image came into focus in the empty space in front of him. But rather than an active scene, it was a still image. One of the most familiar Ryder had ever know. His mother.

“What is this?” Ryder stammered? “Which memory of her? Is the device stalled, why isn’t it continuing to play out?”

“It is not a single memory, sir,” the vendor said coolly, “It appears that you do not have any single memories of enough value to meet the cost of engagement. If you want the ring, it has determined that you will have to surrender a category of memories, everything that relates to a certain emotional recollection. Any memory, it would seem, of her.”

Ryder stumbled backwards a step, too stunned to speak. It felt like a sick joke, but he knew better than to think that anything about the Power of the Keep was a farce. People in pain were people under control, and everything about the currency of consciousness was designed with pain in mind. In order to obtain a future with the woman he loved, Ryder would have to relinquish the very memory of the first woman he ever loved. Every embrace, every kind word, every story- as if they had never happened. Losing her when he was ten, Ryder had gotten through on the memories of love and laughter, knowing that because she had loved him, somehow, he mattered. This was the price for his future. Everything good about his past.

Would he even be the same without it?

The door to the shop opened behind him. Someone else entering to make the same exchange, just with different stakes. “Shall I finalize the exchange, sir?” the merchant asked Ryder, clearly impatient to get the process finalized so as to move on to the next consignment.

Ryder picked up the proffered pen, and made his selection that would forever seal his fate.

In 2075 the invention of the neural link was seen as the most revolutionary communications device since the written word. It was seen as so vital to society the world’s governments decreed that every citizen was to be fitted with one upon reaching adulthood. Oh there were demonstrations and protests against this level of coercion, so compromises and various grandfathering clauses were made. Nevertheless not having one slowly shut you out of societal participation. Ultimately the people fell in line pretty quick.

The single greatest unintentional result of neural link integration with society was the monetization of memory, memories were constructed with a psyche type energy totally unique to any energy that could be generated and stored up until this point in human history. It granted people better health and long life; a gateway to immortality. No one knew how long a person could stay alive and vibrant by constantly syphoning other peoples memories, but the government was studying the new scientific endeavor very closely.

But once it became possible for people to sell their memories an entirely new marketplace was born. The deeper and more cherished the memory the more psyche energy it contained, the higher its value.

It soon became evident this new economy was devastating the species because people were selling off their most formative memories For example I had to sell off in desperate circumstances. I myself sold off the memory of my daughter’s birth to pay for the cancer treatment she needed to live. My beautiful baby girl…. I can hold her in my arms but I can’t remember how she came into the world.

We never thought we could shred the meaning of existence so thoroughly. On this plane of existence humanity can find new and interesting things to destroy.

I stand in line with a few dozen other people desperately awaiting my turn. Some people are young and some people are old but we all came here for a reason. We need to buy something. Some people might be buying small things and give up memories of a vacation or book they read but some are here for…bigger purchases, like me. Whatever memory they take away it’s worth it. My wife fell gravely Ill after being exposed to radiation from a nearby nuke. The only way to save her is a lung transplant.

After waiting outside the giant white building, a woman wearing a blue suit escorts me in. Everybody there is dressed so fancy with dresses and suit meanwhile I came in a T-shirt and jeans.

“Mr Sulkin, is that you?” Asks the man sitting behind a desk. He is the red haired guy I see in every memory replacement comercial.

“Yes sir that’s me” I respond.

He rummages through a yellow folder he has out and I glance at a picture of me and my wife.

“So you are here to get a lung transplant, you know that’s going to cost an important memory. You might forget how to speak, friendships, weddings.”

“I know what the consequences are sir, but what I’ll lose if I don’t do this is far more important than any memory”.

“Very well” he says.

I sign a few papers and he begins sticking wired to my head. He then puts on a hat like machine and sits back down.

“This will only take a moment” he says. He presses a red button and the machine lets out a loud roaring sound. It gets louder and louder until it finally stops.

“Thank you for your cooperation sir your wife will get her transplant soon” says the man in front of me.

Wife? I don’t have a wife.

“I think your talking to the wrong man. I don’t have a wife” I say. I get up from the chair and walk out the building. Why was I even there anyway? Doesn’t matter I need to get back to work.

The fork cut through the quiche unleashing a bubble of mayonnaise and sending four dry pastry crumble across the plate. A long flute glass of champion sat close to the paper plate. It was then that the clown was shot. I had heard the first shot rather than saw it, looking up to see blood bulging from the forehead of the clown. I was close enough to see chunks of make up break away from his brow to make tidy white ice burgs in the blood. I remember the way his cloths seemed to collapse before his body, falling forward and clumping around his chest and waist. When he had feel, I had seen his face, including the moment when he died, for maybe 4 seconds. That was what made this memory so valuable to a certain audience.

I never found out why the attack had happened. I had only be at the party as part of the complex internal politics of the consortium. So middle manager had demanded extra tickets to the party to establish their important and that of their department. The middle manager then had to find people to give the ticket to, so there I want, to the party.

It had been its own special hell. Not the sort of hell that could be exchanged for credits though. It had been dull, white ( everything was covered in white sheets, giving the occasion

My plans were sweating, my knees where shaking, I was so nervous. I started tapping my foot when Austin said, “Your making me nervous. Stop tapping.” Then he pushed my leg to the ground I told him, “I’m sorry that I’m making you nervous, but I’m nervous. We will already have to give up 5 memories just to pay for this visit, and if…” he interrupted me by saying, “No ifs. I’m going to be fine. We won’t have to worry about giving up any more memories, because we will find out we spent all these ones for nothing.” I never got to finish what I was saying, but it didn’t matter because they called us back to a little room to discuss the results. When we got in there we sat right beside each other I held his hand, and we both took a deep breath, as if it could make the results better. The doctor said, “Austin, I’m really sorry, I didn’t want to have to tell you this, but you do have cancer.” We looked at each other, we were both devastated, I asked, “What are the treatment options?” He replied, “Either he will have chemotherapy, and a stem cell transplant, or he won’t have anything.” I asked, “How much will it cost?” He said, “A lot, but it has a great chance for Austin to survive cancer, he will have a 87% chance to survive.” We shook our heads in understanding, we planned out when we would start treatments, and then we left. We had a lot to think about, do we have enough little memories to add up to pay for this, or are we going to have to use some of our biggest and best memories to pay for this? We went to the next appointment and the started hooking Austin up so he could start his treatment, and they pulled me to the side. “You need to make a down payment.”, one of the nurses said. I made the down payment it wasn’t as much as they wanted but it was still something. He came and got some of the treatment once a month, for 5 months. Then he got the stem cell transplant, and now it’s time to pay. After his surgery he was sleeping and one of the nurses said, “Payment time.” They weren’t happy that they had to take happy memories from people, but they knew it was what they had to do. I said, “I’ll pay for it.” Austin woke up and asked, “Hey what’s going on?” I said, “I’m just making a payment for your treatment. You can go back to sleep now.” He looked at me like I was stupid and said, “You aren’t supposed to be paying for any of this.” I said, “But I love you and I’d do anything for you.” He said, “I know you would, but you don’t have to it’s not your responsibility to.” I said, “I wish it was though, I love you. I’d rather give up all my memories of you and you be healed than keep my memories and you have to suffer through this.” He said, “I know but I couldn’t live with myself knowing that I let you do that, if you didn’t know who I was, then what’s the point of me knowing who I am. Without you there isn’t a me.” I was trying to choke back tears and I said, “Then I guess there is no you, I’m making the payment. It’s to be worth something. I love you and maybe one day I’ll find you again. As I walked out the room, I heard him saying, “Please don’t do this to me, and but this. Please I love you. I love you. I’ll never forget you.” I started to cry even more. The nurse asked me, “Are you sure you want to do this?” I choked on the words but I said, “Yes, anything for him. He’s worth it.”

When Jill was little, her grandmother used to tell her that money wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. She would tell her about what’s really important and that money would fade but making memories that last, love, and laughter are the currency of the truly wealthy; unfortunately, Jill never quite grasped the truth that had been laid before her. For when the opportunity to sacrifice all of those things in exchange for money, she had to be the first in line. She didn’t heed her grandmothers words… memories are what make you who you are. The experiences you go through are what fill the pages of your story.

Jillian first traded a memory for cash when she was 26. She’d been in between jobs and got into an accident that cost her greatly and she didn’t have the money to pay for it. Her plan was simply to exchange a minuscule memory for just enough cash to cover the cost of the accident and pay her bills. After that, she’d be done, she didn’t want to lose herself to money, like granny had told her time and time again. However, one emergency suddenly became two and then three. She swiftly transitioned to finding herself in line for a bargain regardless of the reason. The cash signs had rapidly replaced the pupils of her eyes.

Jillian stared at the man behind the counter. His fingers were thumbing through a wad of cash; the smell of money flit past Jill, fueling the fire for her incessant need to hold it. He paused to look at her past his glasses that were riding low on his nose, “Well..” he began, continuing to fixate on counting the green paper. “What do you need?” He dead panned. Jill gulped, the beads of sweat from her anxiety slicking her forehead. “I need one million dollars.” She stated avariciously. The man snickered under his breath.

“Oof. That’s gonna cost you a rather meaningful memory lass.” Jill only had a few left, the essentials were all she had to offer. She just gave up the last memory of her brother last week. She doesn’t recall sacrificing him at all, she doesn’t know that a whole chunk of her life was given for a few measly dollars. She used to write down what she had chosen to forget, just to keep track, but that habit didn’t last long once it began to confuse her to look back on the list. Her fingers began to fidget. The diamond rings and manicured nails clicking and clacking as she raked her nails back and forth against one another. The fur coat felt suddenly stifling as she wagered the amount of importance of each crucial memory. The man finished the stack he’d had in his hands and smacked his lips, his impatience becoming evident. “Lass I don’t have all day and now there’s a line behind you.” Jills head instinctively whipped behind her but at first glance she didn’t see anyone— until she looked down. A small boy stood pin straight, clearly uncomfortable. She recognized the feeling well. It was obviously his first time here and suddenly she felt jealous of him, for he had a world of memories to cash in. When she looked back to the counting man she went to speak but clamped her mouth shut. Her heart told her she needed what little she had left, but her mind— or rather her greed— told her she could possibly live without speaking, for What good were conversations with people anyway when she’d have an abundance of money to spend? She’d lost all her friends when she discovered that losing her memory of them could make her rich. She could sacrifice her first memory of loving adventure but then she wouldn’t want to travel and that just wouldn’t do. She scratched her chin and bit the inside of her cheek before saying, “You can have the memory of my grandmother. She’s dead now and I don’t have any need to remember her.“ and then a light flashed before her eyes and she lost her train of thought. For the life of her she couldn’t remember what she was going to say, and to top it all off there was a sudden shadow that seemed to cover her, as if the lens she were looking through were much darker. And then her phone pinged and she was notified that she’d gotten a deposit of a million dollars. The pages of her story were beginning to dwindle and little did she know that in six months she’d be out a few million dollars and anything important to remember. She’d dwindle away every last piece of what made her a person. Her only driving force would be wondering where the next dollar would come from once all the memories were gone.

Thomas walked down the narrow streets of the eastern side of the Artemis Station. Trash littered the steel paths and shady merchants lined each side with haphazard market stands. This area was well known for its lack of human visitors and black market dealings, and it smelled like rancid meat.

“Untraceable photon laser rifles!” a vendor that looked like a humanoid fly shouted. “Cheapest guns in town!”

Avoiding eye contact, Thomas hurried past the pushy insect. He pulled his collar up and the visor of his baseball cap down to hide his face as he continued past the cat-like drug dealers called Khezals. Finally, he saw what he was looking for.

Turning down a dark alley off the main drag, Thomas crept up to a large booth ran by the Quixats. Three of the large mole-people stood behind the booth and peered at the dark/haired human that approached.

“Buying, selling, or leaving?” one of the Quixats spat when Thomas was within earshot.

“Umm… buying,” Thomas stuttered. He wiped his trembling hands on his pants and scanned the table.

Assorted goods ranging from exotic roots to rare minerals were protected by a glass display case. Rocks of every color glistened despite the dim lighting, and Thomas looked over each one with a frown. His shoulders dropped when he reached the end of the table.

“What were you hoping to find?” a second mole-person wheezed.

“I’ve heard of a never ending supply of food that isn’t sold for coin…” Thomas muttered. “It’s probably a myth.”

The three Quixats looked at each other and nodded. Two of them ducked into the building behind their booth while the third asked, “If you are looking for a never ending food supply, it will have a high price.”

“Right,” Thomas sighed. “My wallet is empty, I’m afraid.”

“Fortunately for you, we don’t accept coin.” Black beady eyes locked with Thomas’.

“How do I pay for it?”

“We charge for everything in the same way, although humans rarely buy from us…”

“Tell me what I have to do.”

“Memories are the currency we charge. Memories contain energy that we harvest, but not all memories are equal.”

“You need to copy my memories?”

“No, we take them. As we extract a memory, you will forget it.”

“I see… will any memory do?”

“A memory is only as valuable to us as it is to you. Unlimited food is quite expensive…” the large mole-person explained.

“What kind of memory do you need?” Thomas asked, wiping the cold sweat from his brow.

“Why have you come here? Humans never come here.”

“Does it matter to you why I’m here? Tell me what kind of memory you’ll need.”

“The price is high. If you don’t have a good reason to come this far, then it’s not worth telling you the price.”

“There is a good reason,” Thomas snapped. “But it’s none of your business. I just need you to deliver it to a home on the south side.”

Tilting his head and narrowing his eyes, the Quixat asked one question, “Do you have the address?”

Thomas took a folded piece of paper from his pocket, looked over his shoulder, and slid it to the merchant. The mole-person examined the paper and nodded. He motioned for his two companions to join him.

“Who is Melissa?” the shopkeeper asked as the other Quixats carried two boxes over to the booth.

“My wife,” Thomas grunted while one of the Quixat strapped a large metal helmet with flashing lights and various wires to his head.

“I see…” The last Quixat opened the second box and pulled out a scroll that he handed to Thomas. “This is a detailed list of the memories that will be taken. Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

Gasping, Thomas crumpled the scroll, shoved it in his pocket, and replied, “I have to. Show me the product.”

The third Quixat opened the wooden box to reveal what looked like three pumpkin seeds that were blue, red, and bright green. They had had the pleasant odor of fresh cut grass, and a few small sprouts spring from them the moment light touched them.

“What are these again?” Melissa questioned the three mole-people that randomly showed up at her house.

“Fyuqlage seeds,” one beady eyed shop keeper repeated. “They will grow wherever you plant them and produce fruits within ten minutes. After that, they should produce roughly 5 fruits a day per plant.”

“Okay… and we can eat this stuff?”

“Yes. Blue fruits are mostly water, but the red ones are high in protein and vitamins like a red meat while the green are similar to three servings of human fruits and vegetables.”

“That sounds too good to be true,” Melissa comments, narrowing her eyes at the aliens. “Why would you give these to us?”

“Quixats never give anything away, but we always honor contracts,” a shorter mole-person explained. “These seeds have been paid for.”

“Paid for? We don’t have any money…”

“Money is important to humans but not to us.”

“Then how did-“ Melissa froze when she saw Thomas stumble out of the Quixat spaceship.

“Thomas! What did they do to you?” Melissa called. Her husband stared at her with a blank expression before turning to walk away. “What did you do?” Melissa screamed at the aliens on her porch.

“We did nothing but collect our payment,” the tall Quixat sighed. “Now, we will take our leave.”

As the three mysterious figures disappeared into their ship, Melissa ran after Thomas. She grabbed his shoulders and shook him, but he shrugged her off.

“Don’t touch me!” Thomas cried.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” Melissa stuttered.

“Honey? Who the hell are you?”

“Thomas, dear, I-“ Melissa paused as a crumpled scroll fell from her husband’s pocket.

“Infinite food for a family of four,” the scroll read. Eyes widening, Melissa wept when she read the price.

“It wasn’t worth it…” Melissa mumbled, hugging the uncomfortable man who had forgotten her and his children. “We would rather have you!”

“A down payment for 2 please. 100 yendii.”

"400 minimum love. It's 400 per 'ed." Bartered the short, pot-bellied weasel, from behind the paint-chipped counter. Brushing the last of his lunch from his chest, his bean-stained name badge revealed his name. 'D**el'.

Bella winced. "Del, my friend. I only have 100 yendii. The whole thing is 400!"

His crooked smile slipped down his heavy jaw. Del didn't seem to be in a very 'giving mood.'

"You have 1 month - give me what you 'av, then the rest weekly. WIV INTEREST!" He spluttered as he fanned his Benson's breath. "And the name's Daniel!"

400 yendii plus interest, wasn't easy to come by. It would mean more memory loss. 'What use was a car without wheels, or a train without a track, or a plane without wings?' Thought Bella. Her travel plans seemed to be going nowhere. She'd given up so many of her memories already in exchange for yendii. Anymore, and she wouldn't know her head from her rear.

The thought of giving away 'a big one' was crippling. Her history had kickstarted her purpose, and outlined her future. She found it hard to let go of her past.

Bella’s imagination bathed naked on the sandy beaches of Kandimira -with Cain. The blueberry waves whisked to a froth, lapped at her toes and tickled her pinkies. In jealous fashion, Cain waged war with the sun. He stroked her thigh with a hot passionate hand. Only the most glorious rays, would slip through his attentive fingers, to adorn her with a sprinkling of gold. With desperation, he clung to her every word, and laughed at her every joke. She was his beach babe, and he was her sole desire. Her soul-mate. Her future 'baby-daddy.' They'd played happy-house for 15 years. And now, she was ready to progress things. Life had curled around them both and squeezed. They had little time to breathe. They needed this break.

"C'mon love, I ain't got all day!"

Daniel's brusque voice haggled like a pirate. Noting the patch that covered his right eye, Bella wondered why he'd never had a replacement. People lost eyes all the time in the city. ‘It was only 10 yendii to get a spanking new one, and 15 for a pair!’ Tickled at his stinginess, she slipped a smile, then whipped it back - worried that he’d confuse it with a smile of agreement.

"When yer in it, it feels like yeeears! 400's a bargain, trust me. I've never 'ad any complaints."

There was an odious smell oozing from the soles of Daniel's sneakers. Hurried in her decision, by the repulsive, recurring pungent funk, that refused to dissipate. "Wedding day." Plopped out of her mouth.

——————————

Bella clutched the leather hand rest. It'd been a month in waiting. Cain would love his surprise. At the end of the day, after work, he would follow.

She'd opted for the upgrade. With the enhanced features, she didn't even need to pack a bag. The virtual simulation catered for every eventuality.  

The trade of her wedding day had seemed unscrupulous at the time, but she figured her love for Cain could tolerate the loss of 24 hours.

"'ere. Take this, and I'll see you in an hour. Remember, no refunds." Smirked Daniel.

The pill looked cute. A crimson bead, like kiddy-candy, but laced with a musty bitter tang of mouldy lemon rind. And all the fury of a woman scorned. Bella gulped hard. It took ages to digest. Relinquishing all senses, her eyelids folded, and shut out the world. Wrapped in a fuzzy warmth that caressed her very core, she sunk into her Kandimirian summer.

——————————

The gritty granules chafed at her thighs. Churned waves of dying leaves rustled in her ears, whispering crisp reprimands. Misophonia mocked her senses, as the crunch and drag of a heavy sole, slowly approached. Bella sat up.

"I've been walking this stretch for ages! Where have you been?"

Bella raised her head, harnessing the tone of frustration. Her heart pounded like a bass drum, then skipped about like a percussive set, as a million scenarios danced about her woolly head.

Glasses glinted in the moonlight, and shimmered on the silhouette of a hunched man. His spine leaned to the left as he rested, on one hip. It was strange to see someone wearing glasses. Bella's thoughts curdled.

The rickety man bent over her like a Weeping willow. He was nobody she knew. She soothed her spiralling thoughts. 'Something must have gone wrong with the simulation'.

The man crouched. And, as he lowered his head to within kissing distance, he creaked.

“I’ve been ssssearching for you babe. This place isss-huge! I’m sssso glad I found ya.”

His goofy smile broadened, with a sense of achievement. His S’s seemed to linger in Bella’s ear for an eternity. Like an irritating gnat, begging for a back-hander.

Bella counted his teeth. Two proud pegs camped on his hilly pink gums and cuckoo spit hid in the corners of his ridiculous grin, as he licked his wrinkled lips.

"I don't know you old man!" Disorientated, Bella searched the shore for somewhere to anchor her thoughts.

"It’s me babe, Cain! We'll be young again in the real world!" He croaked.

“To go home, just click your heels together 3 times, and say I do."

Her romance with Cain had been one of speed. Under the guise of perfect characters, they had written to each other online, with every spare second. A true digital romance. The day they met - to reveal their true selves, was the day they married.

Whoever this man was, he meant nothing to Bella. and he would mean nothing to her when she returned to the real world.

Cradling her crinkled shins, Bella added her share of salt to the sea.