Memorias Numquam Mori by Denis Vinnik

 As the bell of the nearby church rang,

he stood and opened his vintage store for customers. Times were hard — he hardly made enough to pay his bills. This store was all that he had, and sadly, it didn’t make enough money at all, receiving only 1 to 2 customers per day. As he took a sip from his trusty, dirty cup, there was a jingle — someone had entered the store. This man was tall, with a luscious beard and fire in his eyes. In some way, this gentleman reminded the vintage salesman of himself back in the days of his youth. He was searching for a present for his beloved fiancée, and after a quick chat and browsing through the shop's inventory, he made his choice. It was a watch made of silver, with a green liner going around the clock face.

Hearing this, the shopkeeper cheered up. Pricy metal and great condition would fetch this watch a good price, and since the man was wearing exquisite clothes, he knew that he meant business. He swiftly pulled the clock from the glass case, but as he took it out, something caught his eye. It was an inscription: “Memorias numquam mori.” That was written in Latin on the face of the clock. That’s when he remembered, his memories flooding him like an overflowing river.

He could perfectly recall the day he got this clock from his father. It had been passed down from one generation to another for an unknown period of time. He lived in an aristocratic family of five, and they knew no struggles. He took the clock everywhere he went; it became some sort of lucky charm to him. But soon, a war broke out, and everything was lost. They had to flee the country to survive. On the day of their departure, he noticed that this clock was missing, and it was too late for them to search for it. Afterward, only misfortune followed him — first, his father died of tuberculosis, then his sisters. His mother, unable to bear living in a world of terror, took her life, leaving the youngster to prevail on his own. Still, it hardened him like iron in the blazing forge. With all the money he had, he secured a residence that would soon become his place of work. But still, misfortune took swings at him again and again.

A minute of silence was interrupted by the customer asking, "Excuse me, sir, but may I ask what is taking you so long?"

Still holding the clock, the vintage salesman tightened his grip and replied, "Nothing that really matters. Still, I am sorry to tell you that this clock isn’t for sale."

"What? But why?" the customer inquired. "I could pay you extra!"

The trader refused the offer. "Sadly, it’s of much greater worth to me than any money can buy."

He knew that it could solve his need for money, but something kept him from giving it away.

The young man was quite surprised. He shrugged his broad shoulders and made his way to the exit. As he opened the door, a few new customers were ready to come into his shop.

"What a stroke of luck," he thought to himself.