Added£0.99Add to basket(A short story of 3812 words)
Broken Link
Fantasy Fantasy - Speculative
by PD Jennings
A young boy wanders through a crumbling wasteland looking for his sister.
Ellis stared at the tobacconist. “Come over here," the old man said again, and rolled his wrist to beckon the boy. “I won’t hurt you.”
Ellis took a step closer, enough to bring him within reach of the front of the booth, a cramped shrine dedicated to smoking. The tobacconist’s hand shot out and took his wrist. “Are you lost, boy?”
“No, sir.” Ellis wasn't looking at the man’s face, he was hopelessly trying to prise open the leathery fingers that held him tight.
“You look like you’re lost."
“I'm not lost. I know my way home.”
“Don’t be too sure.”
Ellis stopped struggling and looked up. “I'm looking for someone,” he said.
“There’s no surer way to get yourself lost. Do you have family? Do you remember them?”
“Of course, sir. I have my mother and my brothers and sisters. It’s my little sister I'm looking for, Dianne.”
The tobacconist lifted Ellis and pulled him close, as if he might be about to drag him all the way over the counter. His breath was sour. “You listen to me, boy. You’d best run along home fast. When did you last see your little sister?”
“You’re hurting my arm.”
“Pain is the best way to remember. She’s gone, boy."
“She’s not gone.”
“I can see you think I'm right. She’s not the first is she?”
Ellis wriggled and looked around for help. Grown-ups passing by ignored him. “No,” he admitted. “No, she’s not.”
“And you remember the others?”
“Yes, yes I do. Please, Sir, let me go. Please. Of course I remember.”
“There’s no of course about it, no of course at all. You have a gift, and a curse. Your mother doesn't remember?”
Ellis remembered the empty bed, and the plate, and no-one else understanding his questions or his pain. He shook his head.
“And your father?”
“Please let me go.”
Without loosening his grip, the man reached under the counter with his other hand, and pulled out a wooden box. He opened the lid and instead of cigars there were chess pieces. “You go to look for her, boy, but she’s gone. Take this.” He pressed a chess piece, a knight, into Ellis’ palm. “Take it and look after it. If you get lost, or if you forget, remember me and this booth when you look at the piece. Do you understand?”...
Ellis stared at the tobacconist. “Come over here," the old man said again, and rolled his wrist to beckon the boy. “I won’t hurt you.”
Ellis took a step closer, enough to bring him within reach of the front of the booth, a cramped shrine dedicated to smoking. The tobacconist’s hand shot out and took his wrist. “Are you lost, boy?”
“No, sir.” Ellis wasn't looking at the man’s face, he was hopelessly trying to prise open the leathery fingers that held him tight.
“You look like you’re lost."
“I'm not lost. I know my way home.”
“Don’t be too sure.”
Ellis stopped struggling and looked up. “I'm looking for someone,” he said.
“There’s no surer way to get yourself lost. Do you have family? Do you remember them?”
“Of course, sir. I have my mother and my brothers and sisters. It’s my little sister I'm looking for, Dianne.”
The tobacconist lifted Ellis and pulled him close, as if he might be about to drag him all the way over the counter. His breath was sour. “You listen to me, boy. You’d best run along home fast. When did you last see your little sister?”
“You’re hurting my arm.”
“Pain is the best way to remember. She’s gone, boy."
“She’s not gone.”
“I can see you think I'm right. She’s not the first is she?”
Ellis wriggled and looked around for help. Grown-ups passing by ignored him. “No,” he admitted. “No, she’s not.”
“And you remember the others?”
“Yes, yes I do. Please, Sir, let me go. Please. Of course I remember.”
“There’s no of course about it, no of course at all. You have a gift, and a curse. Your mother doesn't remember?”
Ellis remembered the empty bed, and the plate, and no-one else understanding his questions or his pain. He shook his head.
“And your father?”
“Please let me go.”
Without loosening his grip, the man reached under the counter with his other hand, and pulled out a wooden box. He opened the lid and instead of cigars there were chess pieces. “You go to look for her, boy, but she’s gone. Take this.” He pressed a chess piece, a knight, into Ellis’ palm. “Take it and look after it. If you get lost, or if you forget, remember me and this booth when you look at the piece. Do you understand?”...