My name is Rye Garcia, and this is my story.

You ever leave a plastic cutting board on a frying pan, not knowing you accidentally turned on the stove? A specific situation, sure, but let me let you in on a little secret. You won't smell the plastic burning until it is already melted into the pan, and smoke fills the apartment. You better open those windows so you don't breathe that in.

That's why I'm walking into this Silver Steve's today. I have an extra cutting board at home, but no extra frying pan. I need it because I'm craving either egg tacos, steak, eggs, or risotto. I haven't decided yet. Depending on how long this takes and how drained I am, after talking to all these people will decide what the meal is.

I walk through the sliding doors, and a blast of cold AC hits my face. Funny, I couldn't decide between a long sleeve shirt or a jacket. I went with the shirt as I was already wearing it. Call it lazy or genius, maybe both.

I look around the store. The floors are always clean, and the store is bright. The kind of bright that doesn't hurt your eyes and makes the room feel bigger. There isn't really anyone here. Makes sense as it's 1pm on a Tuesday. The perks of working freelance, I work when I want. The negative is the low pay or health insurance. Ehh, you pick and choose your battle. I didn't pick this career, more as I fell in.

My eyes scan the aisle sign to see which one would have it. I notice a worker mopping the floor. He looks like a college student and probably doesn't have class today. I miss college. My counselor would pick my classes, show up, and get on my laptop with my earbuds in. I go up to the worker.

RYE

Oh, sir, sir!

Do you work here?

He glances at his vest and looks back at me.

WORKER

Yeah.

I already knew. Why did I ask?

RYE

Cool, where are the frying pans?

The kind with removable handles?

Though... I don't know if those are the best.

I have a small apartment, which would help,

but not if I want to hang them.

The worker stares at me. He doesn't look angry, but I can see his eyes start to glaze over. I'm losing him.

RYE

Right; sorry, sir.

I tried looking at the signs,

but I couldn't find them.

His eyes return to life as he registers what I say. He looks behind him at the aisles, running through the store in his mind. Finally, stop at the aisle where the kitchenware is. He raises his limp finger and points to the other side of the store.

WORKER

Yea, it's the last aisle

down there. Aisle 20.

RYE

Thank you, I actually have one more question.

I can't decide if I should get a name brand or off.

The off-brand breaks a lot,

but it is like one-fifth the price,

but they say the name brand lasts forever.

For the cost of the off-brand-

WORKER

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Dude, I don't know what you should do.

RYE

Right, my bad.

Yup, I've seen that look before. This dude is done with me. I don't push my luck and give my thanks as I walk away. My footsteps bleed into the rhythm of the store.

Uh, ok, 18, 19, 20, 21. I should go of brand...name brand? I need to focus. I feel like I've walked farther than I should have. Wait, he said the last aisle but also 20. Yet the aisle in front of me is 21. I mean, he could have made a mistake, we all do, but that's not what's weird.

Every aisle sign in the building has a list of general descriptions that tell you what is in the aisle. Bread, soups, pasta, beans, arroz, all that stuff. Yet, nothing sits under the 21 of this aisle. Nothing filled, clean as if it were never touched.

Okay, what is this? I can't hear the rest of the store. Just a second ago, it was the beeps of items being swiped on the register, the radio music over the speakers, and the workers' conversations as they stock the shelves. Now it's a gentle wind. Before, the tiles smelled like bleach, but this aisle smells like lavender and grass. It's the same tiles, though.

I look down the aisle, and it's long. I can't see the end, and now that I take a step back, I can't see the other aisle either. A thick fog covers the sides, obscuring the rest of the store. Is this a promotional gag the store is putting on?

I step into the aisle, and things get weirder. The stuff on the shelf is...odd. Something is called "Fairy Dust" in what looks like the Ajax logo. I see a bag of popcorn labeled "Jimmy's Pop Breath ."On it is a kid who is spitting out popcorn engulfed in fire. Then I hear a thick inhale through the nose. A snore that can shake the store to its core.

The weirdest thing is the person sitting on a tall stole at the end of the aisle. The person is asleep with their head tilted as it tries its best not to hit the floor. He has the same vest as all the workers, a long silver beard, and is maybe three feet tall. Usually, that wouldn't be a cause for concern, but the bright blue skin tips me off that this isn't a regular aisle.

I take a step forward and speak with a gentle tone. I don't want him waking up in a panic. I check his name tag, and it says Kurt.

RYE,

Sir, excuse me. Uh, Kurt, sorry to wake you.

I think I'm lost. Everything is odd here.

Why did you paint yourself blue?

On a second note, do you have frying pans

with the removable handle?

Kurt's slowly wakes. His eyes are gold, but what should be white was a deep emerald. Each pupil is aimed in different directions until they focus on me.

KURT

Uhh, wait, what? A new customer?

A new customer! Yes, wait...

you can see me, right?

He bursts up from his seat and stands on the stole. We are now facing each other equally. He stares deep into my eyes. I can only keep eye contact with him because I stare into his golden rings floating in the green sea.

RYE

Yeah.

KURT

Perfect!

RYE

Why are you blue?

KURT

That's all in the explanation.

I can tell by looking at you, but it's procedure to ask,

is this your first experience with the Missing Aisle?

RYE

Yes?

KURT

I figured, I can see it on your face.

You got your big dumb eyes on.

Let me get to the explanation. I'll power through

so you can get to shopping.

He clears his throat and raises his hands as they emit a soft blue glow. The light dim except for the one over his head. His voice carries a faint echo. The gentle breeze enters the aisle and carries soft music with it. I wish I could say it's mystical, but it sounded like elevator music or a tune you would hear in a work training video.

KURT

Welcome to the Last Aisle. A fantastical place

found in all convinces slash grocery stores.

This is the Silver Steve edition, partnered with "Swirl Corp."

When you need a magic fix, twirl down to Swirl Corp.

In this informative presentation, I will break down-

RYE

Please stop. What the hell is going on?

The lights return, and the music cuts. The fog on the other sides of the shelves is still there, but his voice returns to normal.

KURT

Yeah, you're right. I have 25 pages of script,

but why read it when I can explain this myself better.

Let's start with the obvious. I'm a gnome.

RYE

You're what?

KURT

A gnome. Short species of people with

an innate gift to access the Source and all of magic.

RYE

The Source?

KURT

Don't turn this into twenty questions.

The short of it is that the Source is the energy that

all of life came from in the multiverse. It caused our

universe's Big Bang and is the fuel to magic.

RYE

What is magic re-

I stop myself from talking as Kurt glares at me. I should probably hold all my questions for the end.

KURT

This aisle holds magical items

from all over the world.

The only way to see this place is if

you are a magic-user or if you...

RYE

If what?

He is hesitant for a moment. His eyes bounce from my feet to the top of my head a few times before he stops at my face. At first, I was confused about what he was trying to glean, but it was clear after a few seconds. He flashed a look I was all too familiar with.

RYE

Whatever it is, I can handle it.

He holds his hands up in defeat.

KURT

Alright. The only way to see this place is

if you are a magic-user or if you

consumed human blood.