The Map That Leads to You

Chapter Four: Happiness Never Lasts

The backpack that I held on my back was extremely heavy. I could feel it pulling me to the ground, as if it was making me become shorter and shorter. I was wearing blue, comfortable slippers and I felt the grass between my toes as we walked towards the place Ahmad was taking us. My knees were hurting; I was enduring the pain of all this walking. We were all exhausted, except Philip. Philip was walking happily, almost skipping, he wasn't a tiny bit tired and he walked normally as if he did this every day. He wiped his palms on his brown pants from time to time, wiping the sweat because he was nervous. He was always nervous when he was doing something we shouldn't be doing. Then there was Iris, she was stressed, sleepy and tiresome. In a while she could even die from a heat stroke, but she didn't say a word.

"We're almost there." Ahmad wiped the sweat off his forehead. He looked at me and his long eyelashes batted as he blinked at me. His cheeks were dipped in blush.

"Almost where anyway? I still don't know where we're going?" Iris asked curiously as she raised her eyebrows at Ahmad in misperception.

"There." Ahmad pointed his long index finger at a building that looked almost like a grocery shop. The signs weren't working, the light was barely open, the brown tiles on the building were barely brown anymore. But it stood still on its feet. "This is the building that could possibly reveal your mother's unknown whereabouts, Brendan."

We walked towards it and all I wanted to do was run away as far as I could from it. I didn't know if I should march into a shop and start interrogating people, asking them to give me information about my mother, forcing them to. But in the same time, I wanted to tramp into that building and get everything I needed to know to find her again, no matter what I had to do.

When we were standing right outside the door of the shop, I could see that the lighting was dull. It could make you blind. I began wondering if anyone here even had a decent sight in there, as it looked like everyone had poor vision. I could barely see a thing, and it seemed the only lighting was the sunlight. Maybe they didn't have electricity. People were squinting to look at things from a distance. What caught my attention was the man that was standing by the cash register. He was staring down at the numeric keyboard, tapping random things continuously, opening and closing the cash box. He was swirling his fingers in circular motion on the counter, and when he heard the bells jingle as we swung the door open, he glared at all of us. "Hello! Welcome to High Sights. Here we have everything you need, brochures, groceries, magazines, books, anything you crave!" He cheerfully chanted. His smile went from ear to ear.

Everyone split up. Iris walked to the opposite of the room and began lurking around the halls while looking through the products. Philip went over to the comic section with Ahmad as they started sharing their interests. They flipped through the pages of Marvel comics and almost fangirled over the sight of all their favourite Marvel characters. I stood in my place, right in front of the door, and looked at the man standing next to the cash register. He smiled "Sir, may I help you?" He said.

"Actually, yes. Do you mind answering a couple of questions?" I politely asked.

"Yes, of course!" He laughed. "As long as it doesn't concern my diet." He embarrassingly spoke as he rubbed his belly.

I walked over to the counter he was standing nearby and smiled at his funny joke. I hesitated for a second, held back from asking him about my mother. "Well, it's actually a really complicated question. It may be. I don't know." I was stuttering. He could see how nervous I was.

"Go ahead. My life itself is really complicated." He giggled hilariously.

My legs slightly began shaking. I could see Iris from the across the room, eyeing me, waiting for me to ask him already. I stuck my hand into my miniscule pocket and took out a passport sized photograph. It was wrinkled and small. It was my mother. I had been holding it in my pocket far too long, since I had been separated from her. I couldn't help but remember all the times I took that photo out of my pocket to look at it, to talk to it, to confide in it. Tears built up in my eyes. I turned the picture around and showed the man. "This is Meredith. Meredith Alforo. Do you recognize her?"