In Media Res: Retail Pawn

Thanks to jenn see, who gave me the idea. Also, I must have been channeling Dean because it riffs on one of his stories. Did I say riffs? Yikes...!

During his break, after a lunch of quezo de bola and bread, Mr. Reyes entered the nearby branch of the Illusorio Retail Pawnshop (their sign read "We Clear Things for You!") in dusty, dingy Old Manila.

Immediately, he was struck dumb by the aureate lights that lined the ceiling as they flashed and sparkled before his eyes. When his eyes cleared in tear-reddened fury, he saw himself standing in a clean, airconditioned and modern-looking shop with counters at the end of the room.

Except for another customer and the two employees, there was nothing else-- and no one else-- inside the shop.

"Hi. Can I help you?" said a beautiful young employee behind one of the counters. Behind her, various machines were lined up razor-sharp and aestheticalyl distinct against the walls.

"Uh...Yes," Mr. Reyes said, his hang-dog eyes uncertain, "I would like to trade or... er, pawn something."

"Of course you would. This is our specialty, after all.," the woman said, leaning closer and giving the flustered Mr. Reyes a peek down her low-cut uniform. From the nearby counter, a square-jawed movie-handsome man flashed him a reassuring grin as he conversed with a middle-aged woman. Mr. Reyes flinched at the perfect teeth that flashed before his eyes.

"What would you like?" the woman prodded gently.

"Yes. Well," Mr. Reyes said. He looked down and said, "You see... for most of my life I've been rather forgetful. My wife's birthday, our wedding anniversary, my son's recital. Things to do, my business to run-- it all gets mixed-up in my head, you know?"

When Mr. Reyes looked up again, the young woman gave him a sympathetic smile and nodded at him to continue. Mr. Reyes gulped and added, "It's never been something I've proud of. However, the past few years have been pretty bad. And so when I heard from my friend... well.... Of course I'm still not sure...!"

Taking her cue, the young woman laughed a crystal-bright laugh and said, "It's not a problem. I'm sure you have your doubts. But trust me when I say there are no side-effects, it won't affect who you are (except in a good way!), and it's not expensive. At the same time, you get paid-- or trade-- for it. What more can you ask for?"

"Uhm, what exactly does happen?"

The woman gestured at one of the machines behind her, "It's so simple, really. This gadget behind me will just take a drop of blood from you. We'll let it process for a bit and once it's done, you're cleared. No more forgetfulness."

"Is that guaranteed?" Mr. Reyes asked, hopeful.

"Of course!" she replied with passion.

Afterwards, it was done and Mr. Reyes, a few hundred bucks in his pocket, left clear-eyed and happy as memories started surfacing in his mind like ancient land-masses from the ocean.

Meanwhile, the young woman, humming softly under her breath, pasted a tag with Mr. Reyes' name on the small bottle of his blood. Beside her, the good-looking young man was also doing the same thing except that his customer had pawned away her sense of insecurity for gift certificates from a fancy boutique.

As legal contracts go, the management had told them, a spot of blood in exchange for pieces of the soul was enough.

Oooh, I hate endings. I can never get to convey the impression I want known about the story properly.

La-di-da.