22/12/2009
There is an old adage, “Little strokes fell great oaks,” used by the wisest of men to ensure us that our efforts do have the potential to result in remarkable things, and all that is needed to achieve such is patience... Patience, a word I say with contempt; of the many virtues I had, I cannot say that it was one I was familiar with or had much interest in. I would always refute these sayings with brash statements like “Life was too unpredictable to afford to have patience,” or other such drivel that provoked responses of disdain from others. My patience, moreso “Lack of”, has resulted in a fair share of, unfortunate situations in my time; however, I tend to show oblivion to such events. Up until recently, that is.
09:00
The chimes of the clocktower echoed through the walls of my study as I worked. On days like this, I saw myself traversing through the streets of the town and taking in the tranquillity it has to offer, I often arise before the city, and the silence that comes from its dormancy brings a smile to my face. Today, however, would be different, my parents had insisted that I visited them for the Christmas break, I was reluctant, but gradually accepted their request, I am quite a reserved person, and the concept of companionship is alien to me, I would have rather remained in my office and worked on my projects during the holidays, I had a lot of business to attend to. Unfortunately, that would not be a possibility for me. The plane I was taking was set to depart at 9pm, plenty of time to run errands and potentially buy a gift from the markets. Perhaps. I raise the blinds, inviting light into the otherwise gloomy room. Adjusting to the light, I gaze outside to see the landscape covered in a thick sheet of white, dotted with a variety of distinct colours from bunting and market decorations, snow is not an uncommon sight at this time of year, especially not at this town, however, I did enjoy it nonetheless; It served as a reminder of my youth, when I used to frolic around in the snow with my old friends, the thought alone was surprisingly uplifting.
Grabbing my jacket, hat and fiddling with my keys, I opened the door. I close my eyes and allow the gentle breeze to flow through my hair as I step into the outdoors. I shuffle my feet around, feeling them progressively getting more encased in snow, regularly raising them to release pressure. I tread through the snow into the plaza, strolling past the townsfolk dressed in bright coats and hats, each in their own bubble, tending to their own business. Usually, on the weekends, the plaza is busier than usual as there are sales and offers that take place, I keep a mental note to avoid it around these times with that in mind. However, I insisted to myself that a visit to the marketplace would keep me well stocked for when I return from my journey.
10:30
As expected, the plaza was full of life, people were sitting down by the cafés drinking hot chocolate and talking to each other, deep in conversation and enjoying each other’s company. The ice rink was open, and skaters danced elegantly across it in a unique harmony, twirling and jumping with such intricacy. I found myself staring at them for a while with great interest before proceeding. I have lived here ever since I moved out of the family house to study abroad, unfamiliar with the sights then, very well versed now, I knew the plaza like the back of my hand thanks to the townsfolk who were willing to show me the sights, despite my reticent manner. After further treading, I stood before a small dingy shop - one I did not recognise – It was authentic, unlike any shop I have seen before. The bricks were mossy; the windows were dull and clouded, curtained with ivy and ferns. The door seemed to have outlived its usefulness and swung awkwardly against the breeze. Above it sat a sign, greying with age and half torn, the text in thick black paint reading the name “C’s Curios.” Its presence was unorthodox to say the least, despite this, it did pique my interest.
The inside of the building was intriguing, it was the size of a compact bedroom, decked with several outlandish trinkets and relics, the room was illuminated by a small silver chandelier that coloured the room a dim hazy yellow. Sitting before me was a man behind a dusty wooden counter, he looked to be in his thirties with slick black hair that he held tied in a ponytail, with dull blue eyes that stared into nothingness. He wore a black shirt with a white tie which was neatly tucked in and had a badge above his patch pocket with the name “Colton” written in golden cursive letters. He was immersed in an old book and upon hearing my steps he raised his head to look, his face at once lit up at the sight of a new customer.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“How can I help you?” He grinned; I forced a smile “Just looking around.” I replied, His face lowered at my response, and he returned to his morose demeanour, clearly unimpressed with the answer. I glanced around the room again, scanning the novelties that sat on the shelves, one item caught my attention. It was a black leather-bound book that had inscriptions and symbols bordering it, in the centre of the book lay a Greek painting of a sun with an eye in the middle of it. I picked it off the shelf and blew the dust off.
“How much is this?” I ask, the man once again looks up at me, and then my choice of item, his sullen face warps into something of a sinister grin. I began to fidget.
“That’ll be £10.99.” He responded, switching glances between me and the book. I reach into my pocket and count the change I have, £7.00, not enough. The man had seemed to acknowledge this and whispered, “I’ll tell you what, I'll let you have the book, free of charge.” His grinning now ear to ear. Peculiar way to go about business, I did not put too much thought into it, however.
“Well, thank you! I appreciate your compassion” I was unsure of how to respond appropriately.
“Anytime, pleasure doing business with you... Mr?”
“Filmore.” I answered, the idea of giving my name to just anyone irritated me, but it is common courtesy to answer a question, especially from a person of service.
“Pleasure doing business with you, Mr Filmore.” He raised his arm for a handshake, sceptical, I took it and headed for the door.
13:45
I return home after I finished my shopping; my arms gave out and I dropped the grocery bags on the floor, I can organise them later, I surveyed the house from the entryway. It is always nice to see my house, regardless of the amount of time I spend away from it. I step into the lounge and sit on the rocking chair, warmed by the glow of the fire dancing in the fireplace. Silence, just the way I wanted it. Preparations for my flight needed to take place soon, but I had a reasonable amount of time remaining before I needed to arrive at the airport. I dig into my pockets and retrieve the quaint book, I start to slowly flick through the pages, all written in gibberish and more symbols. The pages were worn and yellowish, and some pages were missing completely. After flicking through all of them, I reached the back of the book. stuck onto the interior page was a small brooch, golden, with the same Greek-sun eye I saw on the front. It would make the perfect gift! I examined it further, analysing every minor detail I could find.
It was a fascinating trinket, I put it on my jacket and strode over to my study to continue my work.
16:00
The sun was starting to set, during that time, I had retired into my bedroom to prepare my suitcase for the journey. After finishing the packing, I collapsed onto the bed, starting at the ceiling. I had time to myself to relax and tend to my own interests, heading downstairs, I grabbed the book and brought it with me to the bedroom, the chiming of the clocktower ringing once again as I moved. I inspected the book once more, something changed, I could not see any visual changes, yet I felt a difference.
20:00
I had been reading for so long that I did not regard the time, my flight was set to depart in an hour, yet I felt glued to my bed, eyeing the pages with great interest, it feels as if the symbols are communicating each with their own unique message, I could not take my eyes off it. Not for a minute, not for a second. This curious sensation fascinated me, I brought the book down to my office and started jotting down notes in my journal. Occasionally I would contemplate the brooch, it glistened against the illuminating glow of the desk lamp, I pondered many questions.
24:00
Many questions indeed, though, not all questions have an answer. Well, at least answers that I think are satisfactory, some of the more pressing questions needed to be have the answers whereas others would remain up for debate, and mine? They were the former, and these questions were mesmerising, I began to feel my body breaking down due to the exhaustion of the day. Perchance, the answers I was looking for were to be found at dawn of the new. All I needed was a rest to clear my mind, or by some chance the answer would come to me during my slumber? I just need to rest my head for a little while.
38:30?
Go to sleep.
∞
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