“Shawn, tell me, did you ever give ideas a second thought?” said Pat Spraggings, head of the mycology department at Manchester University, smoking his red sandalwood pipe in the office (despite the strict prohibition). The pipe was handmade and had carved ornaments on its side, which Shawn could have only described as — fungal warriors — men with mushrooms growing out of their bodies. Mr. Spraggings was in his late sixties, and his middle long wavy hair, as well as his generous beard, were grey. However, some of the hair was turning white, which made it look dirty. He had thick eyebrows — also grey — and his nose was bulbous and voluminous. Shawn always thought He must be getting a lot of air through that pipe. He had a lot of wrinkles, and his light blue eyes were sitting on top of big bags. He had an old pair of glasses with brownish frames, which complemented the brown vest he always wore. He also wore a sapphire blue shirt under his vest, which went really well with his hair and eyes.

Shawn wasn’t sure whether it was by accident or by Mr. Spragging’s design. He doesn’t seem like the type to care… for anything else than mushrooms, that is. The smoke was rather mellow and had a pleasant plum scent. The office wasn’t too spacious, but there was enough space to walk around without bumping into things. The part of the building they were sitting in had its exterior overgrown with vines, which were visible through the half-open window shades. A few sunrays seeped through and illuminated the dancing smoke. The shelves were decorated with various wooden statues, most of which had something to do with fungi. Shawn had taken a special liking to a weird one. On its label, it said — the fumungous — a fungal ogre with tiny eyes and a tiny mouth. Its body was smooth, and its proportions were round and chubby. Despite its creepiness, it came off as cute. Shawn had a fascination for speculative biology and couldn’t help but ponder “what if” questions. During their work in the lab, they often talked about what organisms would exist on Earth-like planets. Shawn and Ruby, his best friend, were standing next to the door with their backpacks. They came to get a signature for a course. When he first started working with Mr. Spraggins, he immediately felt admiration for him. Mr. Spraggins’s lectures were goofy and strange, but somehow he felt that mycologists should be that way. They had worked together during the course, but their relationship was still too fresh for Shawn to know what Mr. Spraggins thought about him. He felt unsure and insecure about whether Mr. Spraggins felt he had potential or was working hard enough. However, Mr. Spragging’s playful demeanor eased him. 

“What do you mean?” Shawn replied.

“Well, where do ideas come from? Ever thought about it?”

“Uhm… no, not really.”

“Never mind the ramblings of an old man,” Mr. Spraggins said and chortled, as he always did. 

Shawn felt he should have said at least something, which he probably would have if it wasn’t for how self-conscious he was. 

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Anyways, thank you for the signature, Mr. Spraggins,” said Shawn. “See you on Monday?”

“Sure, don’t forget the report you owe me.”

“I won’t. Have a good weekend.”

Before they left, Mr. Spraggings added 

“Oh, and Shawn?” 

“Yes?”

“Please call me Pat. Or I’ll go mad if I hear Mr. Spraggins one more time.” Then he quickly added, “Although I might be already.” and laughed with his raspy, thin voice, which then turned into a cough.

Shawn nodded.

When they left and walked down the hallway, Shawn stared absently at the floor. He felt happy about the request to call Mr. S. — That’s what he called him in his head — by his name because it meant they were getting closer, but he still felt uneasy about the question he asked him. Where do ideas come from?… What did he mean by that? It was just a simple question, but somehow very fundamental. A scientist, whose bread and butter it is to validify sources and information, should have at least once thought about the origin of ideas. A part of him that wanted to become a solid scientist felt it got exposed. Deep in thought, he overheard Ruby’s question. 

“Shawn?”

”Earth calling Shawn!” she shoved him. 

“Sorry… the question he asked was bothering me.” He replied. 

“Are you going back to Gallie, or are you staying at the dorm?”

“I don’t know” after a moment of contemplation, he added, “Well… I guess I could go see granny.”

“Man, you’re gone today, I swear” Ruby laughed and asked, “Wanna catch the train with me?”

“I guess. Just let me get my stuff from the dorm first.“

“I’ll head to the station, have to drop a letter in the mail first.” She replied.

“Sure.”

They parted ways when she turned around and shouted at him 

“And don’t be late again!”

“I’ll try,” he replied and smirked.

He was making his way to the dormitory over Cavendish Str., which was right next to All Saints Park, where all the students walked from class to class or rested on the grass. It was late summer, and the temperatures started to sink. However, it was still warm enough to hang out in a shirt. Usually, when he passed a ton of commuting students, he felt uneasy. Everyone is looking for something… they travel the world to look for it… but what is it? Is it meaning? Is it a person? Is it experience? Most never went the distance to discover their true selves if it wasn’t for a near-death experience, the unexpected loss of a loved one, or other transformative and deeply painful events. Yet here he was, walking down the street, clueless that such a thing was about to happen to him as well. He was like one of those animals in one of those experiments where they put a mirror in the middle of a forest. Some of the animals attacked their reflection immediately (just like some people would). However, some animals looked intently and pondered. They knew something was off but couldn’t figure it out, as if trapped by some invisible boundary. Shawn was one of those animals seeing his reflection in everyone else around him. He couldn’t get to the bottom of it. Nonetheless, he never gave in. He kept thinking and knocking on those boundaries relentlessly and obsessively to the point of madness. At times he felt he was going mad — and maybe he was —but he couldn’t help it. Breaking through that barrier was what was going to change his life for good.