Purpose

Purpose Chapter 1

Purpose

I strolled through the busy village, the hustle and bustle interrupting my thoughts every stride I took. People stopped abruptly looking into windows, saying hello, and annoying others. Bright fabrics meshed together against the contrast of drab stucco and brick buildings. Each and every one of these people were full of delight, despair, and desperation. Each looking and grasping for a purpose until they found it. My thoughts drifted around the village drawing in inspiration. Each person had a purpose or a thirst for a purpose that kept them here. Their purpose was the reason for life, for importance. The rich and poor all had a purpose, they were all valued by someone, and they all had some source that made them keep on going every day. When they found it they could finally be complete. From what I have found is that people rarely find this satisfaction. Their purpose directed them to places. Just as mine had. Finding purpose had drawn me back to the place it all originated.

    Three months ago I was dumped deeper into hell, then yanked out of my misery, and finally given a new chance at my once meaningless life. I'm back now. My story has taken me back to the place I had once thought I would never leave. This is my story. The story that has given me purpose—and a hope for revenge.

My feet had brought me to the door of a building, I reached for the door handle and entered the Blue Parrot Tea Room. The room was a beautiful pastel blue, chairs and tables littered the room. Parallel to the entrance was a door where a delicious fragrance came from. I had once dreamed of entering this place—being engulfed in the aroma of newly glazed pastries and freshly brewed tea. Now I'm here, for real. I gazed out the window, drowning myself in my memories and thoughts of getting even, with him. I'm back again, I had been tracking him for months, I came back for the purpose to refresh my memory of the past—when it began.

Bittersweet thoughts drifted through my head. Last time I was near here as my old self I was with Cassie before it all happened.

"Hello, my name's Charlie. I'll be your server today. What can I get for you Ma'am?" the waiter's voice melted my resolve. He stood to my right holding a notepad and pencil, waiting for my order.

"May I please have a pot of earl grey, mince pies, tea cakes, and some finger sandwiches" I may as well go all out while I'm here. Who knows what could happen in the next few hours.

"Of course, I'll be right out with those." The scratch of his pencil against the notepad, and smell of tea and cakes made me the happiest person alive. He walked away leaving me to drift back into my mind. This tea room had always been a source of happiness, and a reminder of good things, until it was tainted.

I had walked by the tea room, my hand intertwined in my sister's to our home—if you could even call it that. We giggled looking into the tea room, talking of fantasies that would never occur. I gazed out the window pasted the words etched into the glass. Two garbage men entered the alley to my right reminding me why I was here. I was here for Cassie, the memory of her was almost too much for me to handle. We walked into the alley next to the tea room. Our home leaning against its walls, created out of twisted nails, singed wood and corroded metal. Everyone's clothing here was new and pristine. Not a single stain, rip or tear. The wall was adorned with paintings, the furniture complete with stain, and the tablecloths newly pressed. Our blankets and clothing created from blemished table cloths and linens excavated out of garbage cans sewed together with strips of cloth that were mostly thread.

The men walked off with bags slung across their backs full to the brim with perfectly good food and other items that were wasted each and every day. Cassie and I had once scavenged those dumpsters for any 'old' food that wasn't deemed worthy for the customers, and other edible looking goods. That was our meal for the day, every day, and all day. I looked around the tea room to see waiters carrying away silver platters full of finger sandwiches half eaten left for the trash can. That was my favorite thing about the wealthy. They would waste so much food and leave it for Cassie and me to eat.