THE BOY ARRIVED at half past four in the afternoon.

I had been waiting since eleven.

I had still not cleaned up as of yet, and had wasted the morning away frustratedly thumbing through Animal Farm. I could have read one of my newer books, but there was something about reading classics that reminded me that time did indeed progress, and that I had seen it do so. Ironically it was my brand new adult paperbacks that were collecting dust on the shelves. I regretted not tidying up —but just as I was about to get up the bell pinged and the boy was there.

He stood a few centimetres short of the doorway with a unruly head of sooty black hair —and he got mud all over my floor with his heavy looking boots. His eyes were an empty light blue —almost grey; and the overwhelming feeling of a literal cloud hanging over him cultivated my thoughts.

He came in with a breathy sigh and glanced around him, before making a disgusted face. His gaze then fell and met mine, causing him to flush self consciously and cough presumably out of understandable guilt.

"...You must be Joshua Walker," I said, lifting up the corners of my lips in a slight smile; in a way that showed I was not really sure of how polite I should be. Inwardly, I was not so subtle.

You are late, asshole, I hissed in my mind.

"...Yeah," he said carefully in a plain London accent, narrowing his eyes at me. "Georgia left something for me, right? I would've gotten here a little earlier but I wasn't sure if I wanted to come here in the first place. And then I couldn't find your address. Like, I know this area but I've never actually been here properly."

That explained that.

"...The girl from yesterday?" I asked, tactfully ignoring his explanation. "She did not tell me her name."

He sighed and held his hand out roughly to the height I remembered of her. "This short? Blonde hair? A little bit of an attitude?"

"Ah, yes —that was her," I agreed, turning around to retrieve the dream. So that was her name —Georgia.

"How old are you?" I asked.

"Seventeen —why?"

"I was...just asking. I was curious, I mean. I was unsure, so I wanted to confirm what I was guessing," I muttered dubiously; and if he had any sense at all, he would be able to tell that I was clearly lying.

Apparently I overestimated him.

"What? Do I look older?" he smirked, running a hand through his hair.

Why did teenagers usually think looking older was a good thing? It would certainly come to haunt them when they really did become older.

I raised an eyebrow. "Yes, you do."

So it was not illegal —this relationship between Joshua and Georgia. Not yet, anyway. I hoped for Georgia's sake that Joshua's birthday had already passed this year; even though it would not make much of a difference when he then did turn eighteen.

I then momentarily thought about Georgia's dream. Perhaps I was jumping to conclusions, but my intuition was almost never wrong. The urge to look at the note she had written for the dream suddenly became overwhelming.

And even though I was sworn to never look at a customer's private messages without their permission, the curiosity had been gnawing at me for quite some time. I could not help myself —I simply had to read that note.

"Wait here," I told Joshua. "I will retrieve the bottle from the back, where I had stowed it...for safety. You know —because just because the war is over it does not mean that there cannot be leftover attacks..."

I was certain that I was a terrible liar.

Luckily for me, Joshua did not seem to care enough to notice, nor that I had rambled on needlessly.

But I really had stored it in the back. However, that was for the purpose of reading it when no one else was around too. I had been too good natured and morally bound to read it last night. Now? The thrill of doing something so out of character was giving me the adrenaline to keep going and just do it.

So I slipped away and closed the back door behind me. I went directly to the bottle, which was sitting on a bar stool. I hesitated at first; my fingers refusing to obey my brain's orders. But I willed my fingers to touch the paper, and to slowly slip it out from underneath the bottle.

I held it in my hands for a moment, just feeling the energy buzz around inside of me. It was such a rush that I felt that maybe this was too much for me —

No. Just read it, you coward.

I hastily unfolded the note, before my eyes scanned the small, rather childish print.

I inhaled sharply at the harsh playfulness of her tone, but otherwise I felt pity. I pitied Georgia —the strength she must have had to muster, and the pain it must have caused to write this letter.

I started at the sound of the floorboards creaking, and dropped the letter.

I wiped my hands on my tank top and breathed out shakily. The exhilaration was gone. Excitement had diminished and all that was left was my own selfish form standing in the middle of the room; feeling as though I had covered myself in dirt by doing what I had just done.

I stared at my hands and wished that I could wash them, pretending to wash away the stains of guilt.

"...Hey lady —what's taking so long?" Joshua called from the other side of the door, causing me to snap out of it.

I messaged my temples and breathed out deeply, gaining a sense of calm from the feeling of the flow of air.

"Sorry," I sighed heavily as I whisked up the bottle and picked up the note, before whirling towards the door. I stopped short as I skidded to a halt behind the counter. "...I had accidentally mixed up the bottles. The notes and labels too."

I tensed and glanced away, inwardly scolding myself and wishing that I could just stop talking.

Joshua grunted and did not appear to completely believe me. But he did not question me further, so I relaxed and tried harder to act natural.

I set the jar and note in front of him, before holding out my hand for the payment. He stared at my hand blankly.

"...What, you want a high five or something?" he scoffed, swiping the jar and note. "You took forever, by the way. So, thanks and bye," he said sarcastically, before turning towards the door.

I clenched my fists and exhaled harshly through my nose. "Money," I verbalised my request. I did not care for the fact that I took too long.

He stopped in his tracks but did not turn around. "...What's the use of it in this godforsaken place?" he quipped, glancing up at the gaping hole in the roof. "Half the people are dead anyway so why don't you just take what you need while you're still alive?"

He then stomped towards the door again.

"...It is not godforsaken," I said, stopping him again. "I do not know which god you personally refer to, but our highest authority —the World-Weavers —do everything for a reason," I explained. "...Perhaps the time had simply come for this world to die."

He turned around and glared at me. I expected him to retaliate in some way, but he whipped around and marched out of the front door before I could blink. I sighed. Humans would never fully and truly understand the concept of inevitability.

Their idea of it was that their world would probably never die before them, and that the end of it all was in death. In reality, death was merely a beginning into another journey —a journey with which all of the other Planes were familiar. They understood that all dimensions and domains are in a constant motion; they end and are replaced regularly. Most humans did not buy into this way of thinking.

They did not like ends.

After Joshua had left I decided to get to work tidying the shop up, realising that it was not a suitable place to do business. Perhaps if my space had been more presentable, Joshua would have felt obliged to pay.

I was not strong enough to lift the beam that still rested in the middle of the room, so I left it exactly where it was and cleaned around it. I swept up the broken glass and plaster and refuse, before creating a pile in the corner to clear afterwards. Then I hesitantly mopped up the remains of liquid dreams, plagued by the guilt that I was wiping up someone's memories.

Of course it could not be helped.

It would be worse to leave them to stain the floor.

Every now and then I would bend over and touch the pools of blue, pink and purple with my fingertips. The images would appear in my mind, and I would smile at the memory of a loved one or the memoir of a grandparent. It was more rare that I would stumble across something a little more creative and imaginative —those had mostly come from youths.

I then suddenly found myself wondering what kind of dreams Georgia had unconsciously. The dream she had given as a gift was fairly realistic and expected —mostly —but what did she usually dream of?

Did she usually use her imagination to conjure up fantastical situations and adventures?

I paused and frowned deeply. Probably not.

In all honesty, she seemed like the kind of person who would be plagued with troubled dreams, rather than sweet ones. Something about herself that she desperately wanted to keep hidden.

I could somewhat relate.

I sighed and began to sweep with increased vigour.
I needed to move on and think of other things...like how I might repair the major damage to Cotton Candy.

All I had thought about the night before was her visit to my shop. Her astounding ability to dream was nothing short of a miracle, and her nervous and uneasy demeanour only aroused more of my suspicion. Were there possibly more humans and creatures of magic alike who could still sleep and imagine another world...?

My brows raised and I abruptly stopped sweeping at the intriguing thought.

Then I suddenly started at the sound of the bell. Another customer perhaps? I glanced down at the smashed glass and dreams on the floor. Not that I had much to offer them, anyway. But it did not sound like someone gently opening a door. The door had been forcefully pulled, nearly loosening it from its hinges, before being hastily shut.

I made my way to the front of the shop and was met with the shocked face of Georgia. She had returned —covered in dust and scratches. There was a fraying rip on the shoulder of her denim jacket and it was dark, seeping out red blood. My lips parted and her eyes widened as she vigorously shook her head.

She darted towards me and clapped a hand over my agape mouth, before tugging me backwards and making us duck underneath the counter.

I mumbled against her hand for her to let go and she quickly did so, before breathing heavily and running a hand through her hair.

"...What is going on?" I asked, moving to get up and look over the counter.

Georgia gasped and yanked me back down before telling me to shush. I glared at her and folded my arms, indicating that I was not in the mood for this.

She sighed and looked out at the door from the side, before turning back to me. "...I'm sorry but this is the closest place I knew to come to. Uh...I accidentally set off a magic spell at what I thought was an abandoned warehouse —turns out there were a group of rebels there. Now...now they're chasing me and calling me a Wytch."

My jaw dropped open and I did not respond immediately. Why in the world would she run here and not the countless number of empty buildings around?

"I was hoping you could hide me?" she added hopefully.

I gave her a stern look.

"...Okay, so maybe I shouldn't have —gah!" she started but then grabbed her upper arm, wincing. "Ah, shit. My shoulder —"

"Stop talking," I told her, putting a finger to my lips. She pouted but was too preoccupied with her shoulder to retaliate. I frowned. I would need to take a look at it before she left. We both then gasped as the door was thrown open again, almost breaking the bell.

"Hey, we saw you come in, you little Wytch," a gruff male voice grunted. Several pairs of footsteps thudded along on the floor. We both held our breath, unsure of what to do. "...So we know you're here."

"Do you have any idea of the consequences that your little spell caused?"

"Probably not. 'Cause she was still just a dumb kid."

"Looked like a street one too. Street Wytch. Like a gremlin no one wanted. She probably has no concept of thinking about other people's shit."

"Doesn't matter. We'll burn this hideous pink mess to the ground to return the favour."

That made me snap.

I got to my feet and marched out, ignoring Georgia's mumbled cry of protest. I immediately came into view of the intruders, fists clenched.

Four tall men, with dark hair and soldiers' uniform stood before me, with their weapons poised. I did not care for my safety, nor their flamethrowers. It would hurt if they lit them, but I could not die in my human form.

"How dare you threaten such a thing," I said through my teeth. "Just because something has happened to your life's work, it does not mean that you have the right to take it out on someone else's."

They all glanced around the room, and whistled at the extent of the damage.

"But it's practically falling apart anyway, lady —"

"Nah, nah," the first man then interrupted, slapping the back of his hand on the other man's chest. He looked me up and down, before settling at my gaze, which I did not kindly return. "...She's a Dreamcatcher, ain't she?"

I tensed.

"Yeah —she's got purple eyes. And hey, she'd be worth a few." Another one gave a dirty chuckle. I clicked my tongue and glared at him.

"And we're in goddamn dream shop," the first one added. "No wonder it's so ridiculous in here."

"Uh, my shop does not cater to the likes of you four," I retorted rudely. "It is a sophisticated establishment with a very successful run. So if you would like to find a shop more to your liking, I am sure that Hell is currently open and would gladly let you in."

Silence filled Cotton Candy after my outburst.

"...You little wench," the first man hissed, raising his flamethrower. "I should set you alight just for your insolence."

I gasped but before anyone could react Georgia suddenly bolted out from under the counter and came to a standstill in front of me. "Don't you dare!" she cried, flinging her arms out. Then she paused, calming down self consciously. "...I'm the one you want —leave her out of this."

I paused, surprised. Georgia was defending me? Stupidly, granted, but every bit as bravely. Then I began to panic. How on Earth would Georgia survive an attack? This was my fault —I was putting her in even more danger. I glanced at the men, to see what they would do.

They shared a series of looks before chuckling.

"...We'll leave the shop standing if she comes with us," was one suggestion.

"And becomes our magical slave," was another.

I rolled my eyes. What a typical request.

"You can't do that!" Georgia cried, shocked. "She's got nothing to do with all of this. Take me instead."

Where was the logic behind that?

"Why would we take a measly little street Wytch when we could have a beautiful Dreamcatcher? Forget it —you're just a kid anyway," the second man immediately shot the idea down, much to my relief.

Georgia seemed to crumple at the reference to her age again, and she hung her head slightly. I took the opportunity to step forward and gently pull her out of the way to stand behind me.

"Listen up you four," I started. "You need to let this go. It was an accident. So be on your way and stop scaring her."

One of them made a face. "What are you, her mother?"

"She is not my daughter," I sighed. "But you are not laying a finger on her."

"Oh yeah?" the second man smirked, cocking his flamethrower. "Who's going to stop us?"

I gasped and moved Georgia further behind me. Then I clenched my fists. "...I am."

author's note |
the spelling of 'wytch' is intentional.