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Creative Writing Horror

Something Memorable

I wonder what she’s like, I thought. And just like that she came over to my desk, smiled, and plopped herself down unceremoniously on the frumpy chair in front of me.

We spoke.

We spoke about her requirement for 4G, and how she’s unhappy with the current list of data plans, and why her iPhone, which she bought from us, takes so long to charge.

I’ve always been fascinated with Customer Service. I get to see all types of people walk in and walk out. Inevitably they always walk out just a little bit unhappier. As a company we try our best to please, but it isn’t always so easy.

She rattled on, and with one ironic flip of my tongue, I managed to draw out a chortle from her. She has a pretty face with almost perfect features, I thought. She looked happy underneath it all especially when I managed to get her lips to eke out a sunny smile.

Our work was done, and it was time for the customary handshake. As our hands touched, I searched her consciousness. It’s something I’ve perfected for years, and through an ‘almost-osmosis’ sort of way, I visited her and sipped on her happy memories.

I chose two.

One was when she celebrated her 17th birthday with her mother; it was a memory that was made more precious and happier since her mother died a week later thanks to lung cancer.

The second was when she gave birth two years ago, and she named her little girl — Maria. What a beautiful girl. So strong and happy was this memory. After all, she did give her daughter her mother’s name.

As I completed the transference of those two happy memories into my own consciousness and owned it, I watched her smile fade along with the light in her eyes; no doubt her heart was feeling the void left by those two central happy memories.

Stealing memories is like a drug, you see. It’s so addictive. As she turned and trudged back towards the entrance — with her voice, eyes, gaze, and walk emanating a sense of real sadness — I felt something akin to a clot of remorse albeit quite tiny.

Maybe I shouldn’t have stolen her mother and her daughter from her, but that wisp of remorse left as another customer sat on the same sad chair in front of me as he smiled and started a harangue about his 4G connection.

All I could think of was how happy he seemed; I was looking forward to the moment when our business was done so we could shake hands.

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