The Ivory Killer (DISCONTINUED)

-Chapter Three- Aron

This chapter includes amnesia and death, so if you would prefer not to read, send me a message and I will gladly summarize for you. Enjoy!

I shifted for what seemed to be the fifth time in the last minute. The rocky ground outside of the Cornflower Inn was definitely not comfortable. I was planning on sleeping until Mary had finished up for the day, but that idea was quickly demolished by the chilling of the evening air and the sharp, dusty ground. Despite the undesirable sitting conditions, the evening was very pleasant in Otania. The sounds of the marketplace had died down to a dull roar, and a few vendors had started packing up their stalls. A merry laugh exploded from the inn as the door opened for a moment, then slammed shut a second later.

Business was slowing down for the Cornflower Inn, but Mary always refused to close until sundown. She claimed that everyone needed a good meal, no matter how late. I couldn't argue with that, considering I had been sitting outside for the last half-hour, waiting for food. She lived in a small room joined to the Inn, so if anyone needed anything, she would be there right away. The sun was setting rapidly, so I decided I would have at least a little time to wander before Mary was finished.

I rose from the ground and dusted off my trousers. There was no more money I could afford to spend, but just glancing at the stalls never hurt anyone. A few women still wandered, examining pieces of produce and running their hands over sheets of fabric. One daring vendor called out to draw attention, but just received a few glares for interrupting the calm sounds of the evening. Now that there weren't as many people as earlier, a few critters scrambled along the dirt path. A squirrel chittered angrily when a rogue child threw a rock towards it. I would have chastised the child for being rude and inconsiderate, but then I remember that he wasn't my child and I had no place to judge his actions. If his parents didn't find it appropriate, then they would fix the problem.

Nothing there seemed very important to me, as I never really found any need to have more than necessary. I didn't grow up with much, so I learned to appreciate what I had. Birthdays? Didn't ask for anything but to sleep in for an hour. Holidays? Made sure that my mother had food to eat. I never wanted much.

A flash of color sparkled in the corner of my vision. I turned to see a small stand, somewhat beat-up, with a thin tarp hanging over the wooden skeleton. Lines of small metal pieces sat on the counter, and as I got closer, I saw that they were metal cooking utensils. Some were more tarnished looking, while others were polished and new.

A wave of nostalgia washed over me and I smiled to myself. I remembered that stand, as it was mine just a few months prior. Obviously, considering the state I was currently in, I couldn't afford it any longer. It was one of the only things I held dear to myself, and I could never get it back.

An invisible force drew me closer to the stand, and I observed every inch of the wooden structure. There were small chips etched along the bottom of the supporting beams. This was caused by my young self, bored out of my mind. I had taken a knife from our home and began cutting and carving while waiting for mother to finish business. Absentmindedly, I ran my thumb over the small, horizontal scar on my left index finger. I remembered slicing away at the wood, when all of a sudden, the knife slipped and cut my small finger. The scar was still there, though it was paler and smaller than it was all those years ago.

Upon further inspection, puncture marks where old nails had been pounded into the wood still stood. Mother would always let me draw a small picture in the corner of the signs we pounded into the counter every season. I developed a skill for drawing leaves and plants at a young age, and the small talent still stood.

The man selling the silverware just glared at me as I stared at the stand. He knew about my love for the stand, and still took it from me in the end. Every other day, I was found admiring the stall, just remembering.