The Memory Market Below the Station

I found a secret market where people buy and sell… memories.” Under the old metro station,

there’s a staircase nobody uses. Last Thursday, the gate was open. I followed the stairs

down to a massive underground hall filled with glowing glass jars. Each jar had a label:

“First kiss.” “Winning a championship.” “The moment you realized you weren’t alone.”

People were trading memories like currency. A woman offered her happiest moment in exchange for

the memory of becoming fearless. A man traded a nightmare for confidence. Then a vendor approached

me. “You’re new,” he said. “Care to trade something forgettable?”

I asked what he wanted. He touched my forehead and whispered: “The memory of your