You know those really predictable movies where a pretty, mysterious girl makes a grand entrance into the local coffee shop, her hair tangled by a swift breeze as she glides across the floor and bats her eyes at the handsome barista with way too many muscles for a service industry employee?
That's not me at all, because before I can even reach the door a woman comes barreling into me on the sidewalk and my things go flying in every direction.
"Shit," I gasp, reaching for my throbbing toes, but the woman seems to pay no mind. She wears a thick winter coat, has plain brunette hair a bit lighter than my own, and dons a vacant expression on her face.
"Nice day in Neverton, isn't it?" She drones.
"You ran right into me," I accuse, my quasi-Italian accent making an appearance along with my anger. "Aren't you going to apologize?"
But before I can even finish the thought, the woman is walking briskly away from me as if the encounter had never happened. I stare after her, silently fuming for a few seconds. My first interaction in this town, and already I'm feeling a whole lot less warm and fuzzy inside.
Maybe a good cup of coffee will change that, I think hopefully. When I push into the front door, a little bell announces my presence and I'm overcome with a wave of warmth as well as a scent that blasts me back in time. Literally. I stand frozen in the doorway, my mouth hanging slightly open as an old memory replaces reality.
The earthy, grounding scent of wood. A wooden floor in an old studio in the city, crowded with dancers in tight-fitting black clothing. I sit beside my father, knees bouncing, and my mother smiles and waves at me through the mirror that spans the entire wall. I watch her dance, graceful as a swan, her arms and legs cutting through the air in perfectly straight lines. Then, I watch as she loses her balance, as she falls to the side, knocks over one of the other dancers, hits the floor–
"Can I help you with something?" A woman asks me, and by the way she says it I can tell that it isn't her first time asking. I blink my way out of the trance, feeling off-balance in more ways than one.
"Oh. Oh, yes, please." For the first time, I take in my surroundings. The cafe is small but bursting with life. Every table is occupied by hipster-looking guests engaged in silent work or pleasant conversation, and a long coffee bar stretches across the length of the wall to my right, so stocked with ingredients that it reminds me of a witch's apothecary. Every inch of wall space is decorated with Halloween or autumn-themed trinkets and weathered news clippings that I can't read from where I stand. It feels tacky and cozy at the same time, a strange combination that I shouldn't enjoy. But I do. The Neverton Nest feels like the perfect meeting place for quirky friend groups, the kind of place Analia and I would have killed to have back at school.
The hostess leads me over to the bar, the only place where there are any open seats, and I squeeze myself onto a stool, taking care not to jostle anyone with my duffel bag. I feel horribly out of place here, among so many people who seem to be – joyfully – participating in life.
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Death's Temporary Home For Lost Souls
ParanormalWATTYS 2023 SHORTLIST Cara, a troubled college dropout, finds herself slowly falling for a handsome stranger - who turns out to be Death incarnate. But the arrival of a mysterious being puts Death's home for lost souls and his very existence at risk...