Marcy swiped from the memory, despite it constantly being replayed she still would blush. Her boyfriend, her Ricky, and his powder blue eyes that stared up at her at the botanical gardens. On bent knee, asking to marry her.

As silly as it sounded she had a routine of memories, the pair’s first date, their first kiss on the Ferris wheel, their anniversary dinners, and of course of that afternoon at the botanical gardens. Next was the wedding.

Marcy swiped along her bank, a process that got shorter with each week, as she sold more and more memories in bundle forms. Like when she drove back from the supermarket, bought tampons, cleaning her toilet ‘just uneventful days’ she assured herself. Sold virtually to fervent niche collectors. That seemed to horde specific events. Sure, they only sold for a dollar to two, but, in this age any penny would be worth its weight in gold.

At least at first. As the prices around her loomed larger and larger, she had to part with some more… important memories. Especially from her engagement period. A process she only remember by a note pad she kept to keep track of all transactions. After all, audits were getting more frequent. Each one caused a grimace but was worth substantially more. The ink read:

‘Telling Shanti she’d be your maid of honor’

‘Buying the flower girl dress for Lucia’

‘Going flower shopping with Grandma June and Mom’

‘Bachelorette ski trip’

As cringeworthy as it was to part with them Marcy knew what she had to do.

So, onwards she swiped for her most coveted memory. Her wedding day.

The catherdral, as ethereal as a renaissance painting.

‘No.. wait… it was a barn…. Humble and homely.’ Marcy thought correcting her self. The lapse seemed odd. After all she had played that memory in this pattern nearly every night.

Marcy continued to swipe towards it. Palms clammy from anxious worry.

‘No…no.. but the dress… silky and flowy..’ Marcy thought swiping back and forth through the memories quite frenetically. ‘Or was it lace.. and form fitting…’

The slot, gone, instead filled with the gleeful memories of Marcy on her honeymoon.

The air had caught in her lungs. Choking her and slamming her mind into a tailspin. Retrace… Retrace… Retrace…

Fleetingly she imagined it sold within the bundles she had to sell en masse. Out of desperation obviously.

They couldn’t have been. She triple, quadruple checked them.

The next thing that filled Marcy’s brain was sudden indignation.

“Thief… thief…” Marcy whispered to herself sitting up from her bed, her sweat sticking to her skin and t-shirt peeling off the bed.

The word stuck through her head in place of the memory. As she ran a comb through her hair, changed from her t-shirt to a thin thermal and cargo shorts. Though the night was stark and black, Marcy was invigorated.

In a fit of passion Marcy reaches for her Swiss knife on her counter before fitfully leaving her apartment.

Attempts try to break into any corner of her mind to find any detail. Not the veil, the officiant nothing.

Stepping out into the street the rain pelts her clammy skin.

“Thief…Thief…” Marcy repeats with a nervous cadence as she trods down the sidewalk. Indignant. Taking mental stock of what little she has left.