Of memories in the slots. Chiming and colliding, pitter and pattering down to the vault. They rest there-shadows in the dark-glimmering and shimmering only when a flame is near. That’s when you see the warmth of the gold. When the flame is near, the tokens vibrate ever so slightly. When you look- if you look- the gold faces are faces, and the face is your face. Now, as you look, you feel your heart beating the way it did when the token was made, and you feel your head feeling the way it felt when it was made.Now you plunge into it,
and you see what you saw the day that you saw what you did, and you hear what you heard the day they heard what you said. When it’s over, you flick back the gold and begin to rummage in the pile for another. As your hand grazes each token, you feel the slight humming of each, and a flash of feeling takes over as your hand passes from one to the next. Some remain in the shadows. Hidden. Forgotten. Repressed. Others are always on top. Sometimes, you stumble along one that you thought you lost. Your fleeting hand stops and rests on it, and you clench it tight.Then you lift it,
turn the candle on, and see the face- your face. Your breath stops for just a moment, and then suddenly you find yourself inside the token, your face a puppet to the past. Emotions- pulled by strings- recreating the scenes that once occurred. When it’s over, you smile. A smile that you’ve never smiled before (but one that will become a token soon enough). Then you clench the humming token in your hand and place it carefully in your pocket for a lonely day.