I woke up this morning itching to get out. Finally the week-long rain had stopped, and my old legs needed to walk. So I thought I'd go to church. My mama raised me Catholic, and although I don't practice anymore, I miss the morning service. It gives me something to think about during the day. Unfortunately, there is no church on this side of the interstate except the synagogue down the street. My mama always warned me to stay away from places like that, but I was desperate, so I got all gussied-up and took that rickety old elevator downstairs. The sky was casket gray and the wind was chilly. By the time I crossed the street to the synagogue, my toes were numb and my skin was translucent. But I trudged on, determined to attend the morning service. I walked right up to that front door and yanked on the handle. No one was going to keep me out--regardless of my religion.
The door was locked. Those rabbis wouldn't let me in, and the other parishioners hid inside. I didn't see a single soul. Just as I turned to make the long walk back to my apartment, a small grocery receipt flew by on a gust of wind. I watched it bounce up and down the street, jerking this way and that, like a marionette pulled by unseen hands. The wind suddenly quieted. The paper dropped. Right in front of a hole-in-the-wall store I'd never seen before.
A cheap sign out front advertised THE WRATH. I peered in the store window and saw a small woman bent over an oven. She was holding a few weeds and a cylindrical bar of something melty and white. All around her loomed cases of odd objects: old playing cards, odd candles, crystal balls. . . . Not the sort of place a woman of my age and upbringing should enter, but I was tempted. After being rejected by the people at the synagogue, a new friend like this might be nice. As I squinted to see into the shop, the receipt that brought me there blew up in my face and bounced down the street. I followed it, wondering where it would lead me next. It bounced down to the corner by Washington Heights, ricocheted off the traffic light and fluttered all the way to Manny's Grocery.
I looked up, and there in the window was a sign. NO ALCOHOL SALES ON SUNDAY.
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Fey finally seemed to come out of her daze. She shook her head, what had she been thinking? She had noticed that her moments of spacing had been getting more and more frequent. Maybe I'm getting tired and should take a few days off? Fey looked at the many new candles cooling under the glass on her counter. Some of them quite pretty and complex with a second layer of different coloured wax in a spiral down it, perfect for combination magic. She had spaced out the previous day and made these. As she picked up a white and green one, Fey had a somewhat fuzzy memory of seeing an elderly lady earlier in the previous day. She'd seemed so sad, no more alone and in need of a friend. If I saw her, why didn't I invite her in, especially since it has been so cold lately. That's not like me at all. This thought worried Fey, though she didn't know why.
Patpatpatpatpatpatpatpatpatpat The sound of a fresh batch of hail brought Fey out of her thoughts. The sun was setting and Fey wanted to go home now. Because of the terrible weather, Fey had left Finicky at home, and without Finicky, Fey didn't even want to risk walking in the dark. She locked the door and opened her umbrella, no real help, but it offered comfort. As Fey walked down the road, she saw a large black van, without any sort of markings, make a turn down Baker St.. It reminded her of something, but what? Something somewhere in Fey's mind whispered remember, remember me, ever so faintly, but she still heard it. Fey's heart skipped a beat, could she finally be remembering? was the past returning? but try as she may, Fey couldn't get the voice to return, nor could she remember what the van reminded her of. Somewhere Fey heard a police siren in the nearby distance in both the city and her mind, what was happening?
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