WATTYS 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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
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.
