Amy busted through the doors of the hostel similarly to how she had done her last day of senior year just a month earlier. Her eyes sparkled with excitement; she couldn’t believe her parents had allowed her to travel abroad. She intended to absorb as much culture and make as many memories as possible. She had been dying to visit the enormous, bustling marketplace that was only a short walk from where they were staying, but her friends didn’t seem to share her enthusiasm. So, on this day, she made special plans to wake earlier than usual, leave a note, and let them meet her there.
She hurried down the cobblestone streets, taking in all the different sights, sounds, and smells around her. “I wonder if this is the most alive I’ve ever felt,” she thought to herself, smiling. She was a beautiful girl, tall and slim, with shoulder length red hair and tanned skin that wasn’t quite dark enough to hide the mist of freckles that covered her. She was so distracted by her appreciation for where she was, that she almost overlooked the figure standing tucked away in a narrow alley between two apartment buildings. Never one to shy away from her unwarranted sense of compassion, Amy’s intuition called for her to help others as if it were an involuntary reflex.
“Hello, do you need assistance?” Amy called to the specter as she began to walk towards it. She couldn’t explain it, but something was drawing her attention in rather than intimidating or frightening her away. Like a moth to a flame, she moved closer.
With barely an arms-length between them, the figure turned and revealed itself to be an elderly woman, the wisdom in her deep, knowing eyes reaching out to Amy’s. Her tanned skin revealed someone who had experienced many hard days in the sun, and in her leather hands, she clutched a worn rosary. Amy felt the exhaustion in the old woman’s frail frame as she reached out a thin arm to balance herself. The cloak she was wearing raised up just enough for Amy to notice a dark, odd, whale-shaped scar on the woman’s wrist. Amy walked the lady out of the alleyway and back to the busy sidewalk. The woman’s eyes cut to a doorway to an apartment building along the walkway. With Amy’s help, the woman opened the door and gave Amy a despondent look. Amy felt some inexplicable connection to this stranger and almost considered helping her further into her home. But then, the feeble lady turned and her gaze became stern. “You must not go to the market, my child. Go back.” Her voice sounded dry, raspy and forced, as if she hadn’t spoken in a long time. Amy was puzzled, why would the woman discourage her from going somewhere so public and safe? “Thank you for your concern, madame, but my friends are joining me shortly, I will be fine,” Amy smiled. The sternness melted into sorrow in the woman’s eyes. “Merci”, the ancient woman mustered, and shut the door behind her.
She didn’t allow herself to worry about the old woman’s warning. Instead, Amy felt gratitude bubbling up inside of her as she continued her interrupted journey to the market. Being so young and vibrant, Amy could not help but contemplate her own mortality after her encounter. As the hum of conversation grew louder around her, the image of the old woman dissolved from her mind. The various brightly colored tents and fragrant new smells beckoned for her attention. She walked down an isle of vendors when she came upon one different from the others, negligent of foods and woven garments. A stocky old salesman sat hidden behind old books stacked so high on the table in front of him, Amy only noticed him because of his bright purple and yellow turban peeking out above the top. “Are you inquiring about trinkets for this life or the next?” the man asked with a thick French accent. Immediately, her interest piqued. “If you could offer me something for both, then I’d really be impressed,” Amy retorted slyly. A smug grin crept across the man’s cheery face as he reached under his table and pulled out a heavy chest. The hood of the chest popped open and a cloud of dust settled around it. He reached in and unwrapped a thick tapestry to reveal several individual chains with beautiful gems linked in gold and antique cords. Amy let her fingers trace over the metals until they rested on one necklace that seemed to vibrate under her touch. She gingerly lifted the chain and revealed a dazzling beaded rosary, trimmed with gold and reflecting the sunlight back into her eyes. She had to have it.
She paid the man and wrapped the chain gently around her wrist. She planned to continue browsing the souk but turned to find a barren desert where there had once been a busy market. The man and everyone else were gone. Panic set it. She had to be dreaming, having nightmare back in her hostel. As far as her eyes could see, there was nothing for miles and miles, only innumerable hills of sandy wasteland. But in the distance, she could see multiple randomly spaced doors. Each door was different from the last, no two looked alike. They were all an impossible distance away. Her shock gave way to despair as a guttural scream escaped her body. Sinking down onto the hot sand, she looked down at her still clutched wrist to see the rosary she had so carefully chosen had burned deep into her skin, leaving a fresh pink wound in her arm. It was odd and shaped like a whale.
About the Creator
Chloe Wiseman
How much gold can a nomad carry?
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