Chapter 6. [Flashback #3]

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AZALEA DIDN'T KNOW what was wrong with her.

   For the past six weeks, she hadn't been able to sleep. At first, she thought she was homesick or maybe she needed some time to get used to the forbidden cities. But six weeks had passed and everynight, she found herself wide awake.

   She had gotten used to her new home very quickly, it was as if she were born here as a human. Azalea knew that it was because there were no judgy parents or secret organisations in the forbidden cities. She was free.

   And even with her newfound freedom, she couldn't do one simple thing. Sleep.

   Azalea searched it up on the internet. Humans were suprisingly more advanced than Azalea thought they were. Apprently, Azalea had insomnia. Which sounded like bullshit to Azalea because Elves can't be sick. Right?

   Azalea didn't know what to think anymore. She couldn't confide in Juline, she would just worry and Azalea didn't want her too. Juline had her own children, her own family. And she still took time to visit Azalea every week. Azalea didn't want her to feel more burdened. Afterall, as much as she wanted it to be true, Juline wasn't her mother. 

   Azalea also couldn't tell Iggy. That old grandpa would just tell Juline. 

   Azalea sighed and tried to stop herself from crying. The thing she hated most about these sleepless nights were that she felt lonely. Every other day, Iggy would come visit her, but when he left, Azalea would feel all alone. Her ears would start ringing, her eyes would start to droop but she would never sleep. And when night came, she was reminded of the days back in Candelshade, alone in her three story bedroom, waiting for her parents to start fighting or to scold her. Living in a ticking time bomb. 

   Azalea's hands stiffened and the cup she was making sunk in. She stopped stepping on the peddle of her pottery wheel and smashed the deformed cup back into a ball of clay. 

   Azalea tried again, using her knuckled and fingertips to carefully sculpt and form a cup. The clay slopped in her hands, listening to her, being shaped into whatever Azalea wanted. She lifted her foot and the wheel stopped spinning. 

   On the wheel was a perfectly shaped mug. Azalea carefully lifted it from the wheel and onto the shelf of her closet, where many of Azalea's sculptures were held. Azalea never got to fire them in a kiln. They were all just sitting in her closet, unfinished.

   It made Azalea angry and guilty. The unfinished pottery pieces were reminders for Azalea. Reminders of how Azalea left the Lost cities with so many unfinished business. She never got to say bye to any of her friends. And her brother. And the other Elves she had met on her adventure to Ravagog. 

   She never even got to know what happened to Ravagog. Was it still a crater? Are the Ogres and Evles at war? And most importantly, why were they so angry with her mother? How was Gisela Sencen related to everything?

   AZALEA HAD HER hands in the pockets of her leather jacket. She wore a sundress underneath with some sneakers. All the jewelry she donned on were handmade from air dried clay and painted by Azalea. She walked on the path, cars occasionally zooming past her. 

   She finally reached her destination. A small shop tucked into the corner of the building. The sign said: "Hong's Family Pharmacy", in green. The area around her pharmacy was riddled with dead leaves and the concrete on the floor was cracked. She opened the door, a small bell rung, and entered the shop.

   Inside, there were shelves full of supplies. A middle aged lady sat at the counter, she looked up as the bell rang, then turned back to inspecting her nails, an unfriendly look on her face. 

   Azalea shrugged it off. Afterall, Azalea was a customer, the lady wouldn't treat her badly. And Azalea never believed in the 'bitchy girls' strereotype. No person would be bad enough to treat another like garbage. 

   Azalea walked in, her hands still in her pocket. She browsed the rows of neatly stacked pharmacitical supplies. There was no other customer other than her and another middle aged lady. She had a baby on her lap, sucking on her small tumb and reaching out for her mother's dangling earings.

   A shop assitant was helping her. A teenage man with a shaved head. He was carrying a box of supplies while he tried to find what the mother wanted. He looked like he knew the shop well. He was probably the one who set all the rows of medicine neatly.

   Azalea found what she wanted at the counter. She took two bottles from the shelves and handed the lady some money. The lady finally looked away from the phone, as if finally interested in Azalea now that she was handing her money. 

   "30 dollars," The lady said. She counted the money and pressed some buttons on the cashier. She waited for the machine to print the receipt, smacking her lips together.

   She stuffed the two bottles and the receipt into a small plactic bag, giving Azalea the side eye when Azalea told her she didn't need the plastic bag. Azalea stuffed the two bottles into her pocket, noticing the baby knocking over a bunch of medicinal patches. 

   She quickly left the store, the bell ringing behind her. She took a quick look at the receipt. 

HONG'S FAMILY PHARMACY

Sleep-Starters 60 tables               $15.00
Sleep-Starters 60 tables               $15.00
                                                                $30.00
                             Service charge included

Total                                                       $30.00
Amount of pay                                   $30.00
Change                                               $0.00

   Azalea crushed the receipt up and tossed it into a bin. She walked home quickly, not liking how some people were staring at her. Not in a bad way. It was probably because she was Caucasian while everyone else in Singapore was Asian. It was never like this in the Lost cities because they didn't have countries.

   Back home, Azalea quickly stuffed the two bottles of sleeping pills in her drawer next to her bed, thinking to herself: "Let's try these tonight. I'll go back if it works."

   And now, four months later, the lady from the counter and the shop assitant were wondering: "Where's that blonde American girl? She hasn't bought any pills this week."

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