The Thirst Chronicles

Short Story #1: Window Shopping

You and your friends bound through the front doors of the mall.  Exams are over, and you are now free for the summer!  There is an electric energy throughout the group: everyone is laughing and playing around.  Everyone else in the mall seems quite happy too.  The sun is shining brightly through the transparent roof of the building, and your favorite song is being played throughout the mall.  You smile at the sheer perfection of this day. 

Your group approaches a brightly lit map in the center of the foyer, framed by a palm tree on either side.  The question was obvious: "Where do we go first?".   This was always the most stressful part of shopping for your friends.  While you are not very opinionated when it comes to plans, your friends take it very seriously.  One half of the group harbors a passion towards collector's shops and dollar stores; they find value in obscure places.  The other half of the group is the opposite: expensive clothes, electronics, and jewelry tickle their fancy.  Normally, these opposing viewpoints would spark an argument, but not today.  Today, instead of arguing, they ask you where you want to go first.  You respond with a gentle shrug, saying that you are fine with window-shopping.  The group chuckles in agreement.

You are the first to take off with no real direction in mind.  The two halves of the group follow you, only hesitating when they see something of their respective tastes.  No store really interests you that much.  You pass by a bakery, but you aren't very hungry.  The electronics store, you notice, is filled with small children begging their mothers to buy them the newest Pokémon rip-off. Next door you wave off the owner of the magic shop trying to entice you with a trick.   Your body tightens up in disgust when a strong, moldy, odor fills your nostrils when you pass by the antique furniture shop.  The fabric in there probably hasn't been cleaned in at least a century.  Someone ought to shut that place down.

The smell is so awful that you begin to get dizzy.  You need to get out of here, and as strange as it sounds, smell something else. You remember your favorite soap shop is a short distance from here.  You tell the group that you are going to meet up with them later and run off in a sick hurry.  

Your fifteen-second jog ends abruptly when the sweet scent of cherry blossom fills your senses.  Your face relaxes, your shoulders slouch, and with a deep inhale, you enter the store in a relaxed state.  You've always found a serenity in shopping for soap; the pastel wall colors, the cute vibrant displays, and the always-friendly staff never fail to make you feel at home.  You begin scanning the endless arrays of soaps as is routine for you.  You scoff at a bottle labeled "campfire musk".  Who would buy that?  You can't help but giggle at the thought of the guys at your school rolling around in the dirt encircling a campfire pit.

A soft, melodic voice harmonizes with your laughter: "Do you need help finding anything?"  You turn around to face the employee, ready to respond with the usual "No thank you".  Instead, your eyes meet two cerulean moons, underlined by a pair of happy lips.  A name tag reading Flynn is proudly displayed on his cherry red uniform.  His shoulders lift up in time with his breath jostling his tawny hair.  Your soft pallet twitches as you search for an intelligent response to his question, but no words come out.  Embarrassed by your paralytic state, you take a step back, only to bump into the display behind you.

Flynn's eyes jolt with concern as his arms reach out to steady you, "I didn't mean to scare you!".  He supports your shoulders so that you can regain your balance.  You can''t bring yourself to look back up at him, and you feel your cheeks flare with chagrin.  You attempt to stammer out an explanation, a joke, or something mildly comprehensible, but to no avail.  

"I have a feeling that campfire musk isn't really your style" Flynn chuckles, "How about we look at some other options?" You follow, smitten by his charm in the face of such a disaster.  You know that he's just doing his job, and there's probably no chance of winning him over now, but your friends are still far behind.  You figure that a little browsing can't hurt.

They say that less is more when it comes to fragrance, but that certainly didn't stop you.  You let Flynn lead you from display to display, trying out everything from seasonal floral potions, to dark, musky concoctions.  With each spritz you look over to him, and he gives you a warm smile of approval.  You flutter when he hands you a small glass bottle: "I think this one will suit you perfectly".  You open the cap, and the smell of daisies floods your vision.  You look over to Flynn for his assessment.  He says nothing, but instead flicks at you a tiny wink from his right eye.  The daisies make your eyes water.

A crowd of laughter clears your vision, and you jolt to attention.  Your friends have finally caught up, and you need to leave; nothing is harder than explaining to your friends what you were doing with a cute boy.  You tell Flynn that you are ready to check out. You take a moment while he types at the cash register.  You don't know if it's sheer infatuation, or just soap fumes, but your head is spinning.  You hand him your card, and before you know it, he hands you your bag with one final, calming smile.  You skitter out of the store to meet your friends.

You try to keep a cool composure in front of them, and for the most part, they don't ask many questions.  One of your friends asks you what you bought, and you toss them the bag telling them to see for themselves.  They open the bag, and in sheer seconds the group is giggling and whistling.  You tilt your head: what is so funny to them about your soaps?  You snatch the bag back and look inside. A line of writing catches your eye on the receipt:

"You made my dai-sy! XXX-XXX-XXXX -Flynn"

There goes that cool composure.