Curiosity-The Other Side of The Street

Everyone in Curio was named Jones but Jones liked to think of herself as more of a Joanna. Curio was a town stuck in time. The younger generations would try to pull it out, but the town stuck fast as the younger grew older and the cycle continued.

Joanna was sitting at a cafe table outside of the coffee shop. It was the only one in town and admittedly their best drink was hot tea. She was half enjoying a disappointing latte when she heard a POP and felt the atmosphere around her move in a nauseating way. The sensation began to fade. Joanna stood up, feeling a bit dizzy, and looked around to see what it could have been. The streets were silent. Curio was a quiet town, but not this quiet. Puzzled, she sat back down to finish her latte.

Mid-sip she saw a man turn a corner and saunter down the street. He stopped in front of the old store called Curio City. (Everything in Curio had Curio in the name.) He looked around as if he was about to rob the place and went in. Joanna finished her latte but decided to wait to see if this person would come running out of the shop with the shopkeeper hot on his heals yelling "Thief!!! Thief!!!" This town could use a little excitement and a better coffee shop.

After about five minutes Joanna decided nothing illegal was about to happen and stood up to leave. She tossed her cup in the bin,  just as the man stepped out of the store with a package in his hand. It was neatly wrapped in brown paper and string. She wondered who he had bought the present for. "Definitely someone named Jones." She thought. She laughed at her own joke and the man across the street looked up and locked eyes with her. She started to smile a friendly smile but the look on the man's face was strange. She looked away quickly, gathered her purse and walked quickly down the sidewalk away from him. 

Curiosity

Jones walked along the street he had been walking along all his life. Main street; every town has one. The artery of the town. A place where all life could get their sustenance, both physical and mental. Jones often liked to stop into the local grocery and get unique food items. The place always had something new to try. He was quite the adventurous type. In fact, today he was headed there when a shop caught his attention.

It was named “Curio City.” He was sure he had never seen it before. The sign above the entrance was old weathered wood. The kind that looked like it had never been properly treated and seen one thousand storms. Below the store name on the sign was “est. 1403” etched in and filled with black paint.

“Cute,” he thought. They certainly couldn’t have been around that long as he would have remembered the little shop from his many walks down this street. They must have added that little detail to give the right ambiance. He really appreciated when places went the extra mile to bring the right feel. He figured he could forgo his grocery shopping for a little bit to check out this shop. So he diverted his path and walked up to the door.

It required quite a bit of his effort to pull the door open, but with a little jolt he was able to get it moving. Once the initial pull was complete the door flowed open like it was resting on a cloud. And with that cloud came a wall of musty air that slammed into Jones’ senses. He stepped through the portal and all at once he felt like he was standing in the Galley of an old ship. He could almost feel the floor gently moving to water that he was sure didn’t exist.

“Ah, I see you have finally arrived.” A voice drifted from the back of the shop. Jones’ eyes started to adjust to the lower light and he could start to make out his surroundings. The place was carved wood from ceiling to floor. Shelves lined every wall with objects perfectly spaced from each other. An old man came out from behind a cloth curtain, which Jones had just noticed.

“This is a very interesting shop, when did you move in?” Jones inquired.

“I guess it depends on what you mean by ‘move in’.” The old man replied.

“How long have you been in business?” Jones clarified.

“Ah, since 1403. We’ve been here for ages.”

“I bet you have.” Jones said knowingly. This old man was really selling the experience. “Is there anything in particular you suggest?”

“Oh, I don’t suggest stuff,” the old man said knowingly. “I have here exactly what you need.” With that he held up an old package, meticulously wrapped.

“I bet you do.” Jones replied. “How much will I owe for this mysterious item?”

“Nothing, this is your item. The only rule is you must not open it for three years.”

“Three years? Why would I hold on to this for three years?”

“I suppose you don’t have to,” the old man said thinking to himself, “but you will. On this very day three years from now is when you will open the package.”

Tired of the weird and cryptic old man, Jones took the package and was rushed to the door by the old man. Once outside turned around to tell the old man he didn’t appreciate the cryptic package and his demeanor, he found himself staring at a brick wall.

“Three years… heh…” and with that he walked off to the grocery with the package held loosely in his hand.

Fields

It’s days like this, she thought, I wish I was alone. She sat cross-legged in the grass plucking up one blade at a time and inspecting them intently. Each one seemed to have a completely unique look and feel up close, but from a distance they all seemed the same. Her hair, a flat umber with some sun infused gold strode down to her mid-back, but she kept it in a tight ponytail on days like this. She had a tiny nose that she was very proud of. And although most people wouldn’t be absolutely sure, her left ear was one tenth of a centimeter lower than her right. She’d measured it countless times. She had eyes that were a whirlwind of olive and ash with a slight mix of coffee dipped in. She wasn’t terribly fond of her lips; she felt the lower one didn’t stick out quite far enough, and the top one too thin.

With each blade she would think of a new dream that she wanted for her life. She would rub the blade between her forefinger and thumb, feeling the slightly scratchy side on one and the smooth part on the other. With each dream done, she would close her eyes and bring the blade to her lips, kiss it, and then blow it off into the sunlight. Countless dreams were released this way. To her it was the only way to live any of them.

It had been a long night, she thought, as the sun warmed her face and arms. One of the longest she had experienced in a while. Her name, Mariella, felt like someone else’s now. For all one knows she had stolen it last night from an unsuspecting person she crossed paths with? The events that took place were quickly becoming enclosed in the dense haze of her memory, much like to grasp at the last fading parts of a vivid dream as wakefulness cleanses ones mental pallet. Nothing felt real from then.

Mariella focused on the cold grass beneath her. It was a world of dreams for her to wish away. She closed her eyes and felt a light breeze touch her cheek and forehead. With it brought a delicate scent of far off water and fresh flowers. In the distance she could hear a dog searching for its master, or possibly mate. Her arms came up behind her and her hands interlocked behind her head. The wind slowly assisted her to the ground. She stayed lying there for hours. Things would eventually have to be done, but later. Later.