In a world where everything was well provided for, what else could one need? What more could a person ask for that she would be willing to forget a part of her life to get what she wanted?
Forget to Get
These words greeted her every single morning as she passed by the Restricted Room. For years, she tried to remove these engraved words on the antique door but failed. It was as if the wood had embraced these written markings as branding or tattoo, meant to mark it different from the rest of the room.
And yet, no matter how repulsive she found these engravings were, she could not for the love of her ancestors bring herself to replace the door. She had a knack for keeping things as they were—a liability, a bane for the superstitious, especially for a merchant like herself, the very person who would receive memories in exchange of luxuries and pleasure. These memories either stored and plucked and powdered out of trinkets or immortalized on paper that were burned, must be disposed of immediately as part of the binding contract of a purchase.
And that was why they did not see her fit for the job, despite her own markings. Because she could not perform the last condition in every transaction she had dealt with. Thus the roomful of jars that housed disintegrated memories that continued to tell their stories and hum their songs and describe their surroundings.
She had a knack for keeping things—most especially memories that did not belong to her.
And in a world where one had everything they needed, it was wrong to keep things that one did not own, especially memories.