amanuensisnessy

[amanuensisnessy]

Avant-Garde #005

“Su total es 577 pesos y medio litro de sangre. Por favor firme en la máquina y presione el botón verde,” I point to the machine in the same manner I did so many months ago to Amos.

“Acepta dinero en efectivo?” the old man asks, while taking out his worn out wallet.

I smile earnestly at the man and take the bills from his hands, “ Hay un banco por la entrada si quiere sentarse para esperar por el autobús. También le puse un jugo y un bocadillo gratis para que no se me desmaya cuando salga.”

The old man beamed at the free items and thanked me in spanish. I saw him inspect the items as he walked through the doors and then took a seat in front of the store. 

“When did you learn spanish?” Amos had appeared from behind an aisle of medicated shampoos.

“I had to keep myself from going crazy over the centuries. Figured languages were the best way to go. Especially since I was going to see the sights and whatnot.”

“I can already imagine the kind of stories you have away from home,” he plopped his elbows on the counter.

“I have to finish this story first.”

“Well then, do go on.”

And on I went.

My life followed the same pattern it had right after the break-up with Silas. I went to work, my friends comforted me, and I went home. I just wished it felt as normal as it seemed. For the next few months I felt eyes pressed against my back. I was expecting to see Anita or Silas with a new campaign to join their community every few minutes, but never showed up to harass me.

Years had gone by and I had finally put the whole ordeal behind me. I truly started feeling comfortable in my own skin and felt safe appearing in public. That is, until things stopped making sense.

Every new year, every member of my family would gather at a reserved salon, park, and one year a graveyard. I’d kiss hello close family and introduce myself to new faces. After a few years I would see some changes.

Those who were the same age as me would gain a new wrinkle, a new white hair, or a new ulcer. My baby cousins were getting acceptance letters to their colleges. The final nail in the coffin, I was the only face my grandpa would remember. And that was when Anita’s words came to haunt me.

Naturally, I stopped going to family events. I cut contact with my family, coming up with every excuse I could think of to excuse my absence. Eventually, my close family members figured something wasn’t right with and wanted to help get me out of the situation. Unfortunately, they decided help was showing up at my apartment and seeing my youthful face. I still looked like I was in my early thirties when I should have been in my mid forties. I got away with my appearance for years because of make-up and beauty products. Those excuses were all for naught when I answered the door in a messy ponytail and worn out t-shirt.

The hinges threatened to fall right off with the amount of force I slammed the door. That didn’t stop my Dad and cousin from breaking in. I ran to the bathroom and proceeded to lock that door. I am grateful they didn’t decide to force themselves into the bathroom. Instead they voiced their concerns through the door.

“Margo! Come out,” her voice was gentle and pleading. I almost did come out, but then I heard more voices. 

Louder more excited voices. Voices that belong to new family members. Then I heard older voices. Those of my cousin’s husband and my mom. They were deciding whether to eat out or cook something in the kitchen. 

I guess my Dad must have convinced them to wait outside while my cousin tried to convince me to come out of the bathroom. I didn’t open the door for them that night. I slept on the bathroom tile.

It wasn’t until I woke up the next morning that I realized I had not hit rock bottom just yet. My Dad and cousin had seen me in all my youthfulness. 

I love my family to pieces but I would not trust them with secrets. For as big their heart was, they’re mouths ran like they were on a time-limit. It’s how my family found out my uncle’s habit of stealing butter from restaurants for later use. He really brought a whole new meaning to butterfingers and hardly a day goes by where they don’t let him forget it. Even so, my situation  and my uncle’s situation was on opposite ends of the doomed spectrum.

If the wrong person found out about my situation, would I immediately be thrown into a sci-fi movie? One with metal tables and syringes? Where the light of day is prohibited? Where I become something less than human?

I pulled the door open with a little more force than I intended to. Just as I was about to search for my phone, my foot met with a cold slime. I fell face first into the shaggy carpet. My arms, luckily, broke my fall. Unluckily they were throbbing with pain. There was a chicken salad sandwich slathered on the bottom of my foot, as well as on the floor and the door frame. Right beneath the plate the sandwich was resting on was a note. 

Margo

I’ve got a new number (XXX)XXX-0493. Call me when you’re ready, we’re staying at a hotel nearby for 2 more days. Jon is taking the kids back home, but you’re parents and I will be waiting for you. 

Delany

P.s. only your Dad and I know. We won’t say anything unless you want us to.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed.

Tears began streaming down my face once again. I don’t know why, but I guess some sort of relief had finally hit me. I was worried things would get out of hand. I began spiraling into an abyss of darkness and hopelessness and here my cousin was reassuring me. I knew my Dad’s lips have loosened over the years, but I also knew my cousin would keep watch over him like a hawk.

I cleaned up the sandwich and gave her a call.

They were sitting in my living room 15 minutes later. Another 20 minutes and I had told what had happened between Silas and I. It took a lot longer to explain to them how I was feeling and how I felt the years after. 

I’m glad they didn’t interrupt my breakdown, but my Dad was such a Dad, “I guess you’re the family cryptid now.”

“Calvin!” my mom slapped his leg, “ now is not the time for jokes!”

I smiled at the interaction. It brought a little bit of normalcy back into my life and I was grateful for that, but the conversation wasn’t over. Neither were the questions.

“ Are you sure of what you saw when you woke up? You weren’t passed out drunk were you?” my mom aged a little more that day. 

As insulting as that question may have sounded, I let it slide like water on a duck’s back. After all, I was in the same stage of denial for much longer. “Honestly Mom, no. All I wanted to do was to get out of there as fast as I could. All I remember of the living is a giant circle where I had been lying down.”

“And it couldn’t have been a prank?” Mom was still grasping at straws.

So I showed her my scar. The one that did not fade with time, but glowed brighter and hotter when I showed them. “I really wish it was a prank.”

Delany had not said anything during this time. Instead she got up and began walking back and forth between the living room and the hallway that led to my room. Their reactions could’ve been worse. Dad was trying to make light of the situation and Mom was trying to reason with it. I’m not sure what Delany was up to, but it worried me.

I could feel the lump of stress building in my throat. The heavy dam of tears that was threatening to break. A tremble that was starting to take form. In short, I felt a sniper aiming at my bare back and I wasn’t sure if I wanted them to pull the trigger.

Delany came back a few times, looked me square in the face, and left again. She repeated the process several times before finally settling down next to me. “When did you start noticing?”

She held my hands in reassurance, but I felt it was more to keep me from running away, “when I saw Sonia’s 7th birthday party pictures on Face. I was scrolling through the pictures and comments people were posting about the bull ride. There was a picture where I showed up with a slice of cake and then someone made a comment. I think it was a friend of a friend or something,” I waved my hand in the air, “that posted something crass about me. I don’t want to try to remember what they said, but I ended up going down this rabbit hole of pictures. Looking for every picture of myself on every media platform and comparing them to when I talked to Anita. Turns out she was right. And honestly, I feel like I’m going to spiral into something I won’t be able to get out of.”

Delany squeezed my hands, “this is something bigger than any of us, but I promise you, you will have our support for -” her voice dropped. She didn’t have to finish her sentence. In fact, it was a little bit of relief that she didn’t say it. I wasn’t ready for that train of thought. 

“Thank-you,” I wiped away the dam from my eyes only for more to stream down my cheeks. I felt my Dad’s arms wrapping around me and then my mom joined the group hug. Then I had a thought, “What if I did become the family cryptid?”

“I was just joking about that,” my Dad’s face was filled with concern.

“I know Dad, but I think it could work. I could still go to family events and we could start a rumor.”

“I don’t like this. Rumors could get really nasty,” the concern came from Mom this time.

“What did you have in mind?” Delany was committed to the bit.

“We could explain my age through products at first. Make-up skills? Healthy Living? The normal stuff,” everyone sat back down. “I wouldn’t go to all the family events and maybe I’ll disappear for a few years in ‘self-reflection’ or some other excuse. When I come back, we start over with the normal excuses and insert some travel stories. Maybe I met a Shaman in a bookstore or crossed the wrong bridge.”

“After that we sprinkle in some truth and pass it off as a joke,” Delany smacks her fist into her open palm.

As excited as Delany was, my Dad was not 100% on board with the plan. “Hold on. I know it was my joke that started all this, but aren’t we approaching this all wrong. Shouldn’t we focus on undoing this curse?”

“We’ll need to pick and choose what parties you can attend to make it a bit more believable,” to everyone’s surprise my Mom was on board.

“Evelyn!”

“Calvin,” her tone was much more calm than it should’ve been and that terrified all of us, “we  could look into this situation like a medical phenomenon. Have Margo in and out of hospitals trying to figure out what’s going on. Worst case scenario, she’s taken to some disclosed location where they treat her as a test subject in the search for youthful eternity.” That was a lot to take in, but my Mom wasn’t finished, “or  we take a different approach and try to break the curse ourselves. In this case we look for witches and crackpots on the street. In the process of trying to fix it this way, we unleash unknown evils into this world.”

Completely defensive now, “We CAN’T just leave her like this.”

“Of course not, we can do several things. We execute this plan and we do some intense research. DO NOT do anything ritualistic,” she paused for a moment, “at least not without talking to everyone here.”

We talked straight into the night and laid down a lifetime scam. I had yellow legal paper across the coffee table and floor. For the next decade, I became someone full of secrets. Different family members and family friends became so confused with the misdirection and gaslighting that they started creating their own stories.

I came from beyond the stars.

I was blessed by the rocks when I was four.

Vampires.

Eventually, my parents died. Closely following them were some uncles and aunts, friends and cousins. I never thought I would grieve for so many people in such a short period of time. 

Then the inevitable happened.

I drowned myself in alcohol in an attempt to taste a bit of death. It didn’t work, of course. I can’t die. I, also, felt gross after a while of being submerged in 50 bottles of Bourbon. So I escalated.

One of my cousins, however many times removed, had a hand in dealing substances and I had bought some a few funerals ago. 

I stopped here.

Amos could tell how distraught I was, “You can skip this part if it’s too painful. Or if you’d like, you can stop here and we can pick up wherever you like when I come back.”

I nodded at his offer.

Only slightly upset I couldn't finish this conversation.

Part 4

[amanuensisnessy]

Return to Avant-Garde #004

It barely seems like 20 minutes have passed by when the bell rings.

“You got here quick,” I’m still disinfecting the counters when he bolts towards me.

“Quick!” he slams his open palms on the clean counters, “I’ve been trying to get back here for the last 7 years.” Just to get his point across he throws his arms in the air, “ON PURPOSE!”

I laugh, “ It’s been barely 20 minutes for me. How did you not give up?”

His cheeks blow up in frustration, “I’ve come here multiple times and have always wondered why you’re always here! I’ll admit, there were some weeks when I stopped looking, but then I would find some clue that made me pick up the trail. You WILL finish your tale and you WILL tell me how you got here!” He was pointing his index finger at me angrily.

I pointed it away, “Fair is fair. But how did you get back here this time?”

His hair was pulled back into a small bun with some tresses falling down to his shoulders. He was flashing a chocolate colored fitted suit with black cufflinks. He wasn’t carrying his usual leather pouch, but was wearing a gold ring with a black stone in the middle. He looked great compared to the other fits he had, but now I wasn’t certain from when he came from. “ I’m a representative to a charity event at the Lilywood hospital. I thought I saw you at the window of the giftshop on their ground floor. Probably stared a good minute before bolting towards the door. How come you were in a gift shop this time and not in the usual pharmacy-type of building?”

I shrugged, “Time is weird. Maybe you caught a glimpse of my future. Did you see anything else?”

“No,” his voice dripped with melancholy, “I’m sorry.”

“No worries. You’re here for the rest of that story, right?”

“If you wouldn’t mind”

I took out two cups and filled them up with the good stuff. We sat in the breakroom where I continued the rest of my story:

I woke up days later in the same spot I had died. 

The first breath was painful. I could feel the air rushing into my lungs, but I could not remember how to let it out. I kept sucking in air as I laid on my back on the sticky floor. My hands reached to my neck. I tried to massage my throat hoping it would trigger something in my brain to let the air go. The air finally escaped my lungs and my panic subsided. I was drooling from the corners of my mouth. Tears had streamed down to my ears. 

Sitting up was no less painful than that first breath, but at least I could manage. As I took in my surroundings my panic spiked for the second time. I had been lying on a bizarre symbol of white, gold, and red. I scrambled away from the symbol and straight towards the door. I wasn’t going to stay there a second longer to inspect the details. I thought the best solution was to get on the bus to anywhere and then sort out the mess I had found myself in. 

I ended up walking around town. Aimlessly walking in and out of stores. It was in one of these stores where I figured I should buy something to change into. I picked some black cargo sweatpants and a green sweater to replace the soiled garments I had on. It’s a wonder that someone hadn’t called the police. I ripped the tags off before putting them on and changed rather quickly. 

I paused when I took my shirt off.

The place where I had been stabbed glowed between gold and white. I swear it pulsed with each beat of my heart. I left my clothes in the changing room. Bless the lady at the cash register for not asking any questions. Bless her in everything she does.

I did not start organizing my thoughts until after I sat down in the café. It was mid afternoon when I left Silas home, and between all the aimless walking around it was starting to get dark. My sandwich had turned into multiple tiny sandwiches and the most I had done with the lemonade was pop it open. 

I was as jumpy as a mouse and I was ready to run faster than Usain Bolt at the slightest of movement. When a stranger sat down in front of me that was exactly what I was going to do.

Sadly she had grabbed a hold of me. She must have felt the goosebumps running up and down my arms because she gently placed her hand on top of mine. “Please don’t go. I’m sorry for scaring you… amongst other things.”

I took a closer look at her. Beautiful brown eyes told me she was being sincere. Her shoulders were relaxed, but I could tell she wanted my time by the grip of her manicured hand. So I sank back down onto my seat.

“I am so sorry for what happened to you. I thought Silas had your consent and -”

I cut her off here, “How do you know Silas?” 

I had a million thoughts running through my head. Was she a part of Silas’s cult? Was she at the party? Have there been more before me? Am I no longer safe?

“I’m Silas’ wife, Anita.”

My mind went quiet with this new information. The questions stopped coming and instead was being replaced with rage and insults towards the scumbag. He was married and he had the audacity to court me?

“I didn’t know,” my voice came out in a stammer.

“ Don’t worry. He’s got a few partners tied to him.”

This nonchalant conversation should have had more anger. I should have been more angry, but the way they spoke left me confused. Grasping to understand the situation and struggling to find a way to react. So I sat there like a blubbering fish. 

When I refused to respond she continued to explain.

Silas had the blessing of immortality and youth. It wasn’t always a blessing, but Silas had the nasty habit of making things work out for him at the expense of others. The night of the party was supposed to be the beginning of a new life. One where I had an entire community to support me for centuries to come. I didn’t know a single person at that party but they had all come from different backgrounds. Some  were running away from abusive households. Other’s wanted a chance to experience a life they were never granted. There were a few fools who took the offer out of curiosity. 

I kept hearing stories about people in the community and the years they have seen. The tragedies they’ve suffered through together. The accomplishments they have participated in. And the changes they continue to fight for. I believed every word she spoke, except for the amount of time these people had roamed the earth.

Immortality was the biggest selling point Anita was pushing onto me. I finally reacted in the best way I could; I laughed maniacally. I was garnering attention from other people enjoying their evening drink. I couldn’t tell if Anita was uncomfortable with my breakdown or if she was used to it, given the number of years she had claimed to live through.

“Listen, I believe you’ve all gone through,” I struggled to find the words that would not suggest how delusional she sounded, "something that left an impact, but I don’t think following a manipulative son of a bitch who would stab ‘the love of his life’ during a party is an appropriate way to deal with the problems you face. The fact that you believe in immortality is concerning and I want nothing to do with it.”

I took my lemonade and headed towards the exit.

She got up, but not to follow me. Instead she called after me, “I’m not lying and you know it.”

I did not say a word to her as the cafe door squeaked closed. I didn’t want to believe her, but the glowing stab over my heart said something supernatural was going on. And the only lead I had was Anita, or worse Silas.

I prayed to some higher cosmic power that everything would be okay. But I guess I didn’t pray hard enough.

At this point of my story I took a longer sip of my drink.

Amos was jumping up and down with anticipation. I almost felt bad for what I was about to do next. Almost.

“Well I have to get back to work.”

Amos almost fell off of his chair at my impertinence, “You said you were going to finish your story.”

I pointed to the door that led back to the pharmacy, “I have a customer.” As the words escaped my lips the bell rang and I smiled rather wickedly, “You’re welcome to stay here and finish your drink.”

“No. I’d rather see who would interrupt this story time and why,” Amos followed close behind me, “I’m sure they’ll buy some interesting items too.”

I had no doubt that they would, but I would have to go out and help them to find out. “ Make sure not to hover over the customer. I want them to feel safe while they’re shopping. God knows they have had it hard.”

“I promise to do no such thing,” he held his hand over his heart and raised the other near his head.

“Good,” I huffed as I went to greet the customer. Satisfied that I was finally the one to end the conversation.

I was quickly disappointed when I heard him mumbling, “I’m still gonna be nosy though.”

The smart-aleck managed to get the last word in again.

Part 3 - Part 5

[amanuensisnessy]

Avant-Garde - Margo Finley #003

Amos was being particularly annoying today. Constantly poking me and asking me how I got here. Leaving items in the incorrect shelves and moving my pens a few centimeters so that I would just miss them.

My patience was wearing thin until finally I shouted, “Amos Ettan! If you don’t stop pointing that finger at me, I swear you're gonna lose it and find it deep within your bowels.”

The fool laughed, “This is a peculiar place, how could I not wander through the aisles for ages.”

“I would love nothing more than to see you poking your nose into every label on every bottle. So why don’t you do that? Choose a few bottles and leave!” I was begging the man at this point, but his mischievousness was overpowering for him.

“I could,” he admitted rather innocently, “or you could tell me a story? Maybe the one about how you got here?”

I took a heavy sigh and resigned myself to my fate, so I told him:h

Firstly, time flows through everyone differently. So I don’t know how long ago it happened or if it has yet to happen. To me, the moment I was condemned to this place was a couple hours ago, but it feels like empires have risen and fallen in that time. 

As you can imagine, Silas is at the root of all of this.

My car - or as I told Amos, mode of transportation - was sick in a sense. Everything was working smoothly and there were no visible signs of damage. Except, when I took it in for a test, it had not passed inspection. I took it to a mechanic and had them look at it for me. They agreed something was wrong, but they couldn’t figure it out either. I had gone to at least 4 different mechanics before I met Silas. 

At the time, Silas was interested in cars and was quite boastful about his skills. He claimed to be able to fix any mechanical problem and I hoped he would. I waited in the lobby in his shop, while he took a look into it. 

By the time he got back, he told me I needed to replace a catalytic converter. He would need to order the piece as he didn’t have it in stock and it would cost a pretty penny. I, however, didn’t care. I had spent months looking for what was wrong with the damn thing, when I should have been looking for a new car instead. But I was attached to the red chevrolet. Especially seeing how my own Dad taught me how to take care of it.

I agreed to the price Silas had given me and found out later that it was practically a steal. Unfortunately, the piece he bought didn’t solve the problem. He ordered a few more at no charge and replaced each one as they came. I think it was over the course of these meetings that he started to become attached to me. 

We would see each other outside of his workshop and talk about our day, our interests, and whatever else we could find to fill in the hours with. Finally, he had fixed my blessed car. We went for a drive in the movie theater that night. I don’t remember what we were watching and I doubt Silas would remember if I asked him.

“Margo,” he said my name with such seriousness, I was afraid he would reveal a terrible secret to me, “I have genuinely enjoyed our time together. And after this there is no reason for you to keep seeing me, especially since your car is all fixed and ready to go, but I hope we could keep in touch.”

I laughed at how nervous I initially was, “I wasn’t planning on falling off the face of the earth, Silas. I thought it went without saying that we would continue to see each other.”

He breathed a sigh of relief and smiled as he leaned back on his seat. I watched him as he dramatically covered his eyes with his arm.

And that’s how that started.

I met his friends and he met mine. A while later we began dating and I helped around his shop when I could. My friends were all happy for me, even more so than I was because I was the last one to get hitched. 

And that made me nervous.

A carnival had rolled into town and Silas and I had decided it was a great date night idea. We went on every hurl-tastic ride there was and gorged ourselves on hot dogs and Mountain Dew. We were standing in front of the swing rides, unwrapping our cotton candy from its colorful paper prison. And right there, sitting at the very top of this fluffy deliciousness was an engagement ring.

“Margo,” he began in the same serious tone he had so many months ago, “I cannot begin to describe the effect you have had on me. I enjoy every moment I have been with you and wish for nothing more than to spend my entire life with you. I honestly cannot imagine my life without you. I promise to fill your life with as much joy as you have filled mine and so much more,” he whispered this last part into my ear, ‘you don’t have to answer now, but if you do, I hope you say yes.” 

Tears pricked at my eyes as I looked straight into his. I took the ring from the sugary fluff and then gripped his hand in mine.

I returned the ring.

“I am so sorry, Silas,” I began and I saw the joy blinking out of this man’s face, “you’ve made me feel just as happy these last couple of months, but I am not ready for this kind of forever.”

He’d tell you that he was understanding and he smiled all throughout the ordeal, but it wasn’t like that. He dropped the ring, turned around, and walked away.

I was left standing with two cotton candies in my hand and a ring at my feet. I don’t know how long I stood there. The guilt weighed heavy on me and the sadness gripped me at the throat. I knew I was never going to say yes, but I didn't prepare myself for the possibility of losing him forever.

My friends kept me company for those nights that seemed unbearable and a pint of Ben and Jerry’s for the night’s they weren’t available.

8 days had passed since Silas had proposed to me. He came knocking at my door and I was confused as a chameleon on a merry go round.

“I know you’ve said no, but there’s one last place I’d like to take you. I don’t want our last interaction to be sad that would turn all our memories sour,” he took me by the wrist and I followed him.

We drove down familiar streets all the way to his house. The lights were on and I could see people dancing in the living room. I felt the blood leave my face. I don’t know what etiquette class Silas missed, but an ex shouldn’t be invited to a family party. No amount of time would prepare me for the humiliation I was about to endure.

But that didn’t happen, at least not right away.

I was bombarded by men, women, and the genders in between with warm greetings. I felt no hostility in any of the guests and I was becoming comfortable with the vibes. They had a wide selection of food, but I was interested in the desserts. I had just taken a bite of a cupcake when the room erupted in cheers.

I swear I almost choked. As I calmed down one of the women in the party congratulated me. I saw no need to congratulate me, so I stared dumbfounded at her and everyone else in the room.

Silas appeared next to me, “I know you said no, but I really could not see my life going on without you being in it. I respect that you don’t want to commit your life with me, but I was hoping you would allow me to remain your friend until the very end.”

I spoke honestly, “I do want to stay your friend, but I need some time to order out my feelings. Do you think you could give me that?”

Silas beamed, “Of course, we have all the time in the world to hurt and to heal. To love deeply and hate violently. I’m just happy you agreed to forever."

I didn’t know what he meant at the time and I didn't know what he meant as a kitchen knife struck right through my heart. I should’ve felt pain, but I didn’t. Instead I was shocked and confused. 

How was it that everyone was okay with what had just happened? I took a quick glance around the room to see if anyone would help me or stop him. No one did.

That’s where I ended the tale.

Amos, understandably, was outraged, “ You can’t end the tale there! You just died! I have so many questions!” he started pacing back and forth, “What happened next? How long were you dead? Wait… did you really die or did you just brush your hands with death? Are you immortal?”

I held my hand up to stop his ranting, “I’ll tell you next time.”

“But I might not even be HERE next time!”

I didn’t buy his bluff, “You manage to find yourself here just fine by accident. Try coming on purpose and maybe you’ll make it here faster.”

“But you don’t have anywhere else to go. Can’t you just tell me now?”

“Lunch break,” I pointed to my wrist watch. It was out of whack and sometimes the two needles would turn in the opposite directions, but Amos didn’t know that. 

“Fine,” he crossed his arms, “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

He closed the door a little harder than usual, but he was gone. I would see him in 20 minutes, but it might be years for him. He might not even remember he asked for my origin story.

Part 2 - Part 4

[amanuensisnessy]

Avant-Garde #002

Amos visited the pharmacy a month after he bought the elixir. 

The bell rang and the door opened, but I saw no sign of a customer. I walked around the counter and towards the door, only to find Amos face planting onto the tile floor. His red hair was packed with mud and long enough to tie it with a green ribbon.

“Are you all right?” I asked tentatively. I didn’t know what his arrival meant for me or the pharmacy. As bad as it might sound, I hoped if there were any negative consequences to his appearance the clean up wouldn’t fall upon me.

He did not move or speak for quite some time. Worst case scenario, he was unconscious and I would have to drag his butt back outside. I lightly tapped him with my foot. No movement. I dug my foot right under his belly and he started laughing.

“Stop it! Stop it ! I’m up! I’m up!” He dusted some of the dirt off the mud off his shirt rather unsuccessfully. He had the same leather bag from his last visit. He switched out his medieval cape with a knitted green scarf. His complexion and dull eyes were the only things that stayed the same. 

“How are you back here?” I was still trying to process his presence, but he seemed to have forgotten what the policy was because all he gave me was a shrug.

“I was being chased by an angry mob with sharp deadly objects out of the market,” his matter-of-fact tone answered nothing, but he must have thought that was enough information because he was quiet. I stayed quiet too. Giving him the chance to further explain himself. His face glowed with a soft pink when he saw I was waiting for the rest of the story. He sighed, “ I ended up tripping over a rock near the park gates. Next thing I know, I’m back here.”

I snorted at the thought. His soft pink grew brighter at my laughter. I gave him some slack and went into customer service mode, “Well, since you’re here. Have a look around. Things have moved around since your last visit.”

I took my place behind the counter, as I do whenever there were customers. I expected him to go looking through the aisles, but he followed me instead.

“Do you want something from behind me or…?” I let the question linger between us. I didn’t know if the policy still applied to him, I didn’t even know if I could still sell him anything.

“No, but if I could have another elixir? The same amount of time, please,” he was leaning over the counter anxiously waiting.

I grabbed the packet of documents from underneath the desk. He filled it out for the second time I have known him and prepared his flask for the second time too. The process was exactly the same. No new fine-print, no extra signature, no variety in spiels. Business was as monotonous as ever. Yet, my curiosity was itching like a wildfire, “How’d the elixir work for you the first time?”

“It worked well. The person was practically bouncing off the walls when I gave it to them,” he looked at the ground when he smiled, “I’m just happy everyone was able to say good-bye this time. Do you regularly sell such items?”

“Yeah. The pharmacy sells medicines, tinctures, leaves, and anything else. I think every customer has left here with some sort of rare item. Some, however, are more grateful than others.”

Amos is taken aback, “How can anyone be ungrateful? You’ve offered me an elixir to bring a loved one back from the grave, not once, but twice. I’m sure you have more wondrous potions at your disposal.”

“I’ve had some customers here looking for curses instead of miracles. Sometimes they ask for poisons. Other’s hope to find immortality in a bottle. It’s really sad, actually.”

“And you don’t sell any of them?”

I looked at him piteously. For however old he claimed to be, his naivety matched his appearance. “This is a pharmacy. It’s meant to help people with their ailments. I can’t offer people curses because Avant-Garde doesn’t carry any. I have no control if someone overdoses on the items they buy, but the pharmacy does what it can. That’s why I make every customer sign for their purchase. It’s a safeguard.”

Amos smacks his lips, “What about immortality? I get the curses, but immortality doesn’t sound like a bad thing. There is a long list of good things that come with it.”

“There’s a long list of bad things too,” I countered, “immortality is reserved for gods and the condemned.”

“I feel like there’s more to that statement.”

“There probably is, but you should probably go before the angry mob finds you.”

He smiles a flirtatious smile, “ I thought you said only one customer in the pharmacy at a time?”

“I also said ‘you can only visit once’, but here you are.”

The horrifying possibility dawns on him and he thrusts the elixir into his bag, “You don’t by any chance have a back way out?”

I beckon him to follow me to a side entrance, “I don’t know where this will take you, but hopefully it’s out of reach of the mob.”

“Thanks. Guess I’ll see you later?” His voice was rather hopeful.

“Hope not. Breaking policy can’t be good for the universe.”

“Nah. I’ll bet it’s the universe opening the door for me everytime.”

He ducked out before I could respond. Now, I really do hope he comes back just so I can have the last word.

My hopes came true about a year later.

Part 1 - Part 3

[amanuensisnessy]

Avant-Garde Pharmacy #001

Good stories often come from shops.

Well, the place I work at isn’t so much of a shop, but more like a pharmacy. We’re an odd type of pharmacy. One that sells old-timey but effective remedies like teas and incense. We’ve got the usual over the counter stuff for headaches, colds, flus, etc., etc. Then we got the strange and bizarre.

A collection of juices meant to produce the most exquisite of dreams. Black ink to write letters to the dearly and undearly departed. Eye contacts that temporarily let you see a little more than usual. We sell almost every impossibility imaginable here at Avant-Garde. Just make sure not to ask where we get our supplies.

I try not to take merch from the pharmacy, but the owner says I could sneak a juice whenever things are slow. Honestly, there has not been much action going on for some time and I could feel the two consecutive energy drinks coursing through my veins. I was going to experiment with some mountain dew and pop rocks when the door bell chimed.

A boy, probably no older than 18, walked in with a comically large leather pouch and muddy combat boots. His red wet hair hung to his forehead. It must have been raining wherever he came from.

He grabbed a green basket from the front of the store and started scanning the aisles. He would disappear every so often, assuming he ducked to get something from the bottom shelf. I had to remind myself to look uninterested in the ONLY customer in the pharmacy. Even if he was rocking a medieval cape that gathered the dust I was supposed to sweep up.

I got a clear look at his face when he came to the check out counter. His eyes glazed over with a grayish blue tint. You could see the exhaustion underneath his eyes from outer space and his pale skin only emboldened the fact.

“Hello. I am obligated to let you know all customers may only enter this pharmacy once and once only. You are free to continue browsing the aisle or ask about any of the items behind me,” I scanned the items in his basket and placed them in a white thank-you bag, “If you wish to do so, I can keep the items here until you’re done.”

His eyes immediately looked at the odd names behind me, “Would you be able to tell me what they’re for?”

“I will do my best,” I might have laid the enthusiasm a bit thick there.

He pointed to a white box with a blue border, “What’s that one?”

“That would be Ozempic. Meant to stimulate insulin and is mostly used by those who have diabetes,” I hated how much of a robot I sounded like, “side effects include weight loss, nausea, vomiting, and kidney failure.”

“What about that one?” he pointed to a small white-brown box.

“Those would be Ketorolac eye drops. Used for itchiness and inflammation in the eyes. Side effects include swelling, sensitivity to light, and temporary throbbing pain.”

“And the one in the jar?”

I looked at the jar he was pointing at. A white flower with dark roots swimming in a maroon liquid, “That would be Moly. Boosts stamina, endurance, and immunity temporarily. Side effects include insomnia.”

At this point I was certain he would ask about every bottle, box, and jar we had in stock. Maybe I should have warned him about the cost before telling him about the options available. Unfortunately, I had already told him I would help and I was doomed to serve.

“Do you have anything to slow down the decomposition of cells? Or an item to temporarily animate… uh... um… ” he pulled the front of his bangs down in an effort to summon the word he was desperately seeking for, “... a pre-existing entity?”

I looked at him oddly before remembering I shouldn’t judge anybody in the pharmacy. “If you’re talking about eternal youth, then yeah. We got something for that.”

“Really?!” he was surprised to say the least, but he composed himself as quickly as I had, “ I mean, eternal youth isn’t something I’m looking for. In truth I’m trying to wake someone from… um…”

“Death?” I offered.

“It’s not so much that they’re dead, it’s more like I can’t wake them up.”

I curled my lip, trying to think of what I could offer. Depending on the health status of his patient - or friend - I could offer him some medical equipment that could monitor his vitals. Maybe add some medications to speed up his wakefulness. However, if this is about bringing the dead back to life, then that would require some paperwork and elixirs. My train of thought was suddenly interrupted by an urgent question, “how old are you, anyway?”

He took great offense at the question, “Old enough for a medical degree!”

How adorable, but I wasn’t going to be so easily distracted, “I need to know so that I don’t get in trouble,” I looked him up and down, and decided I could fan the flames a bit, “ You look 11. I can’t sell to minors unless I get the owner’s permission.”

“I’m 32 years old!”

I raised an eyebrow and his nostrils flared. He looked good for 32. Well, except for the whole frail complexion he was walking around with. 

“Okay then,” I said, “ I’ve got some equipment and medicines that could help a person wake up faster from a coma. If it’s about bringing someone back from the dead, I’ve got elixirs but you’re going to need to sign some waivers and documents.”

“Really? You have medicine to bring people back from the dead?” he clutched the strap of his leather bag.

I gestured to the wall behind me, “Dude, we’ve got Manna, Amrita, Panacea, and even some plants that shouldn’t even exist. We’ve got something for every ailment imaginable.”

I let the silence linger between us. He starts pulling at his bangs again in an effort to process the information. I’d imagine he’s trying to think of what to do next. 

A few more moments pass before I give him some more information, “ Also, we have the right to refuse service if we suspect any of the products would be used immorally. ”

He looks up from behind his hand, “like what?"

" If you have to ask, then you might want to reconsider that education," I pull the thank-you bag back an inch closer to me, "You haven't paid yet. I can put this back for you if -"

“No,” he said, resting his hand on the plastic bag, “I need this, but can I get those elixirs you were talking about?”

“Sure,” I take out a packet of documents, “ just gotta read this and pay for the amount you want.”

“This is a lot! Don’t you have a condensed version?” he flips through the hundreds of pages I set in front of him.

“Nope. You can just fill out the last page. Nobody ever reads it,” as a person handling medicine, herbs, and elixirs I shouldn’t be offering this advice, but how is anyone going to sue us. 

I grab an empty flask from beneath the counter while he skims the packet. I’m still filling the flask with liquids when he hands me the paper. His name scrawled in an elegant cursive.

I, Amos Ettan, have read and understood the terms and conditions for the transaction of one 12 hour reawakening elixir. As well as understood and paid all the fees at the time of purchase.

All the information looked legit, so I held the flask right under his nose. “Deep breath and let it slowly.”

He did as I said with some hesitation. I swirled the flask a bit and it turned a glossy lilac. I packed it in bubble wrap and then placed in a smaller box. Before I could give him his items I had one more spiel to get through, “ The total comes out to $52.81 and 12 hour lifespan. Please keep in mind that there are no refunds or exchanges since this will be the only time you will be in the pharmacy. Would you like to proceed with the purchase?” I tap on a little screen next to him. 

“I’m sure,” he says as he presses on the green button.

The printer spits out a receipt with all the items he bought. I take out a pen and circle the script at the bottom of the receipt, “My name is Margo Finley. When you have the time please leave a review of your experience at Avant-Garde.”

I hand him the receipt and he chuckles.

“Goodbye,” he waves as he leaves the pharmacy never to come back.

Or that’s how it’s supposed to be, but the fool is back within a month's time.

Part 2

[amanuensisnessy]

Retail Baby

“I stepped on a baby,” is what I nonchalantly told my roommate one night after closing Party City for the night.

She was shocked to say the least, but she had asked if anything interesting had happened at work and that’s what happened. I could have been really mean and dipped, but I was tired and decided the better action was to flop on the bed. 

“What do you mean you stepped on a baby?” she enunciated each word slowly, making sure she would only need to ask once. She made a 180 on her chair and the words on her screen had abruptly stopped. She even took the time to put her pink glasses back on. 

So I began the ridiculous tale half an hour before closing.

My coworker and I were starting on balloon orders for people to pick up at the buttcrack of dawn. I filled the orders with helium while my coworker was collecting some missing latex balloons from the floor and their corresponding balloon weights. There were orders for a baby shower, a batman party, and a retirement party. As I looked at the collection set before me I thought never has there ever been a more perfect metaphor for the journey of life.

Many balloons were sacrificed during my time working at Party City. That night would be no different. The truly terrifying thing about popped balloons, is when there are no more copies of said popped balloons and the customer was to pick them up first thing in the morning.

By now, you can imagine where this tale is going. One of the balloons would blow up to read “BABY”. The only one we had in the entire store that night. Instead of filling the balloon with helium, we followed the directions on the packet and filled it with air. Unfortunately, this meant it dangled over the side of the counter and draped onto the floor. 

As I filled the last of my balloon orders I looked down and yelled, “I’ve stepped on the Baby!”

My coworker took a few moments to take in what I had said and quickly figured out I was referring to the balloon, “Did you pop it?”

I looked to see if there were any leaks or tears on it. I breathed a sigh of relief and said, “No, it’s all good. But I’m putting this on the counter. I’ll just leave a note so that the morning crew knows which order number it belongs to.”

That’s the end of my tale.

My roommate looked at me unenthused, “I thought you actually stepped on a baby. I was about to say ‘where were the parents?’” she took notice of the time, “I have to go to work soon, but I really thought you violently stomped on a baby. Like, I know you don’t like kids but damn!”

I took the moment to remind her, “I also don’t like violence. Plus, my perspective on kids is they’re cute to look at and babysit and stuff, but not to have forever. “

“Same, but I still want to have kids.”

“At least you can rest easy knowing I won’t be stepping on any of your kids.”

“ Can I really?” her sarcasm dripped in pools.

I threw a pencil I had resting on my desk at her, “Just for that, I’m getting your kids some kazoos and whistles for their birthday.”

She chuckles, “Ok, I gotta go bye.”

She shuts the door, leaving me in the room with no one but my unfinished assignments to keep me company. I'd probably still be awake when she gets back at 1 in the morning, and then I could ask her how her night went.

[amanuensisnessy]

I wish it was sleep paralysis

My sister’s and I were never afraid of the monsters under the bed.

Partly because there wasn’t enough room to even slide a piece of paper underneath. Our nightly setup was a queen-sized mattress resting on top of the queen-sized boxed spring, and then the carpeted floor. No nice frame holding us up or fancy drapes cascading down. 

My younger sister and I slept on this mattress for years. I slept on the side closest to the wall and my little sister took the side that was open for monster chomping. My older sister, on the other hand, did have a bed frame. A blue metal frame held her bed about a foot high, so if anyone was going to get snatched by monsters it was going to be her. Because everyone knows monsters under the bed are assigned to one bed and one bed alone.

However, just in case there ever was a monster who broke the bed rules, I had my little sister between me and the monster. Suffice to say, I felt safe with the bed arrangements. So did my parents because it meant they didn’t have to wake up every other night when I inevitably fell out of bed. 

Out of the three of us I was the most fearful one. Couldn’t get me to watch a scary movie with a crisp 20 dollar bill, or grab a screwdriver from the garage with my dad’s anger spiking every second he had to wait, or order McDonald’s with the promise of an ice-cream cone at the end of the meal. 

As you can imagine, I got no sympathy from those older than me or younger than me. My parents and older sister kept pushing me to grow out of these irrational fears, while my little sister teased me incessantly. I still refuse to watch scary movies at any time of the day, but at least I can go into the garage for that screw driver my dad needs. 

Anyways, as the quivering, fearful, and cowering child that I was, I dreaded the night. I knew there was no avoiding it. For night was accompanied hand in hand with darkness. A darkness that was patient and inescapable. The solution to fight said darkness was to sleep with the lights on. 

My parents weren’t having any of that and they didn't want to shell out some cash for a pretty plug in moon. The compromise was to have the closet light on. At the time, one of the doors to open the closet door was broken and it was able to block some of the light from shining onto my older sister’s side of the room. My younger sister didn’t mind the light, but she didn’t mind a lot of things back then.

To my delight, I was able to see everything in the room if I were to ever wake up in the middle of the night. From the sponge green walls to the purple blanket my sister and I shared. I could even see the direction my older sister had decided to sleep in (her feet faced the door and her head was in the headboard’s direction).

I slept great for years with the lights on. Until the safety of the light proved to be powerless in keeping the things of the night away. 

I remember my eyes snapping open for absolutely no reason. There was no sound that should’ve woken me and my sister hadn’t jostled the bed while rolling over. Regardless, I was experiencing an unwelcome re-telling of Peter Pan. 

Instead of Peter Pan bouncing off the walls trying to catch his shadow, I was met with my little sister’s shadow, kneeling next to the bed. I knew it was my sister’s shadow because of the long untamed hair she was sporting at the time. I had the same hairstyle, but mine was considerably shorter. 

She didn’t move and neither did I. She continued to stare down at me and I prayed with all the strength my brain could muster for my sister not to wake up or for it to go away. It didn’t work. So I did the next best thing and hid under the covers. I waited a few seconds and took a peek from underneath the covers. It was still there, watching, and creeping. 

I ducked underneath the covers a couple more times and peeked through as many times as I dared. I chanced a glance away from the shadow to the door.

And I saw it was wide open.

Beyond the threshold of the room was the hallway and a conveniently placed bookshelf where a second shadow leaned against it. It seemed like my older sister’s shadow was overlooking whatever effed-up terror this was. 

I should've screamed. There were 7 adults living in the house and a lot of older cousin’s who were filled to the brim with a need for violence. Unfortunately, it was this night that I realized my fear reaction was the equivalent of a deer in headlights.

To this day, I wish it was sleep paralysis because then I would at least be able to explain it. But nay! My limbs moved well enough to lift my blanket over my head as a shield. I don’t know how I went back to sleep that night, but I did. 

I told the story to everyone the next morning, hoping someone would be able to explain what happened that night. No one could, and they were mighty uncomfortable with the tale.

Honestly, I’m surprised it was taken seriously rather than just a child’s nightmare. I'm glad the shadow never came back for round two.