Luna lines

“Leave me alone Josh!” I say in an alarmed tone as I'm pushed against the wall. My face contorts in pain as my elbows collide with the wall. 

“Shut the fuck up! We both know you want me, enough with all this sly acting.” Josh says with a sneer on his lips as he leans closer to me. 

The pungent smell of alcohol emanating from him is enough to make me puke if I wasn't already disgusted by him. 

Life in Willowbrook Town is slowly becoming unbearable for me. The people's cruel nature was slowly getting to me. Their wicked words and derogatory statements cut through the pieces of my fragile heart. 

What's worse is that, I'm in no way to be blamed for my predicament. I was abandoned by my parents and family just a few months after I was born. The townspeople gave me away to the orphanage where I was brought up. 

The townspeople got it into their heads that because I grew up without my family, I don't deserve any respect or love. Almost as if it was my fault that I was abandoned. 

It got better for a while. When my novel blew up and became a bestseller, they started warming up to me. Their fake smiles however dwindled with the fame. 

As soon as the publishers started leaving, sending rejection letters upon rejection letters, the townspeople returned back to their true nature. 

I came out of my house to pick up my mail, and then decided to make a quick stop at the grocery store, only to come across Josh whose only purpose in life has been to torment and disturb my life. 

“Even if you were the last man on earth, I wouldn't touch you with a nine foot long pole.” I say in a moment of anger, almost regretting my choice of words instantly. 

Josh's expression turns mean right before he grabs me by my arm, his hand forming a band around it. 

“What is going on here?!” The staff on duty asks the moment she turns around the corner to the aisle where I'm currently being held captive. 

“Nothing. Run along!” Josh says in an annoyed tone to the lady. 

The staff whom I now recognise as Ria, steps closer to us, her expression one of pure determination. 

“I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sir.” Ria says in a harsh tone as she glares at Josh. 

Josh stares heatedly back at her, and for a minute, I'm scared that he wouldn't budge, but then suddenly he lets go of my arm, but not before squeezing it painfully one more time. 

He gives me a warning glare before storming off, but not before shoulder checking Ria. 

When he leaves, I turn towards Ria, words of gratitude at the tip of my tongue, but she doesn't wait another second before hurrying back to her position at the counter. 

I hesitate for a second, wondering whether I should follow after her to thank her or whether I should make a hasty retreat out of the store. 

If I stayed here any longer, I was at risk of coming in contact with another person who wouldn't hesitate to hurt me and I didn't want that. 

I hurry out of the shop towards the back door. I count my steps as I make my way home, admiring the clear blue sky. Just as I step out onto the street, I find Josh leaning on my front porch, waiting for me with an intense expression on his face. 

I beat a hasty retreat, running back in the direction I came from. 

My eyes fill with tears, as I realize that once again, I'm being forced out of my comfort zone due to the evil nature of the people around me. 

I find myself walking in the shadows, cutting through alleys with no particular destination in mind. 

Just when I'm about to give up and head to the police station to make a report, a small shop catches my eye. An antiques shop. 

The Vintage Vaults. 

The name sounds so unique and beautiful and I don't know if that's exactly what pulls me into it. I try to reason the fact that I really need to go home, but it's almost like my thinking faculties have been colonized by a strange power drawing me into the shop. 

“Welcome to the Vintage Vaults!” A bright sunny voice calls out from behind the counter, pulling my attention to a man who seems to be in his early sixties. 

“Hi!” I respond in a shaky tone, unsure of what to say in this situation. 

“Do you want to look around the shop? See if maybe there's something you want to buy?” The shopkeeper asks with a nice and stable smile on his lips, probably sensing my hesitation. 

“Sure.” I say with a tight smile, grateful to him for taking the lead. 

I follow him through the narrow aisles, trying to steady my breath. The place is crowded with all sorts of oddities, each one more mysterious than the last. 

We stop in front of a tall grandfather clock, its wood dark and polished, almost glowing in the dim light.

“This clock,” the shopkeeper says, his voice low and almost reverent, “belonged to a countess who swore it stopped ticking the moment she took her last breath.”

I stare at the clock’s face, the hands frozen in place. There was something eerie about it, a heaviness in the air that pressed down on me. 

Next, we arrive at a row of mirrors, each one framed in intricate designs that seem to twist and curl like vines. 

“These mirrors,” he continued, “are rumored to reveal not just your reflection, but the true essence of your soul.”

A shiver ran down my spine. The glass in the mirrors seemed to shimmer, almost as if it was alive, and I quickly look away, feeling an uneasy flutter in my chest.

Finally, he leads me to a small, dusty table in the corner of the shop. My eyes are immediately drawn to the object resting there—a dark, ornate inkwell. The moment I see it, something deep inside me stirs, a connection I can't explain.

“What about this?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Ah, that inkwell,” he says slowly, almost as if he was choosing his words carefully, “once belonged to a writer whose words could alter reality itself. But be careful,” he added, his voice dropping to a grave tone, “not all stories end the way we imagine.”

Despite the warning, I just can't resist. I can feel it, an almost magnetic pull. “I’ll take it,” I say the words escaping before I can second-guess myself. I just know—I need this inkwell. It is meant for me.