Solecism (under revision)

Chapter Two

Camilla Watterson

Permanent blindness

The words rang in my ears. My brain cannot process them fully.

Permanent blindness

I pulled my my dark hair as I exited the last store on my list for this city. I was getting more and more agitated every time I cross one out, feeling more hopeless each time I exit their shops.

It was more of a store for hipsters collecting crystals for the aesthetic. I should've known better. The moment I set foot in there, my nose crinkled in disgust. It reeked of scented candles, multiple aromas swirling in the air all at once. I spotted a few incense as well. I have no idea how the employees weren't suffocated by it. One guy was trying to sell me healing crystals and when I told him of what I really wanted he only stared at me blankly. Either heal my sister's eyes or turn back time, the latter being more of wishful thinking.

Ashley can't see the world again, and it's all because of me. I ruined her, took her future from her. Her pale amethyst eyes were a spitting image of mine, except hers were blank and unmoving.

It has been months since the incident. While my little sister underwent therapy, I sought for ways to bring her eyesight back. I've consulted ophthalmologists for second, third, fourth opinions and came back empty-handed. I scoured for eye donors, none that are compatible. Desperation pushed me further. Technology is advanced but not enough to make it available for the lower class. Even if there is a way to bring her eyesight back, I could sell my soul and still wouldn't be able to afford it.

When everything I knew failed me, I turned to mysticism. I explored the internet, visited apothecaries. Most of them were frauds and the handful who were somewhat authentic couldn't help my case.

I was in the coastal city of Salem and its grim reputation because of the Salem witch trials drew me. It was captivating especially now that the sky has cleared and I can fully appreciate the architecture of the older houses making me feel as if I was in the 1600s. I would have loved to see their historic sites, memorials, but that's not what I'm here for. I couldn't believe I was venturing in this area of study. I didn't tolerate mystic arts back then, thinking it was simply science that people couldn't explain. Now, I'm suspending my disbelief, holding on to the smallest sliver of hope. If the stories were remotely true, then someone could be practicing witchcraft whether or not it was in their veins. Fixing my sister's demise would've been child's play for them. What was I thinking anyway? Plead witches to help my case? I doubt they'd be interested.

I could feel tears starting to burn at the back of my eyes and decided to sit on my motorcycle for a moment to calm down. It was as if I can taste the salt in the air as I wrapped my arms around myself. Before I could even pull myself together, my phone chimed. I sighed, someone replied to my emails.

I've contacted everyone who made conspiracy videos about turning back time. Some of them have one screw too loose and maybe I am spiraling down the rabbit hole. I steeled myself, hoping I'd get a decent answer from this one. With a shaking hand, I tapped it open.

Ms. Watterson,

My research is open to the public.  I have notes and documents from Roald Admunser, Lope de Aguirre, and David Livingstone. Their studies about Atlantis support my thesis on the apatite gem. My library is located in Boston, exact address is in the attachments.

Pete Ainsworth

It was suspicious to say the least, but desperation was making me reckless. I tried to convince myself that Pete had his credentials. He knows his gems and archaeology. Besides, if he did try to kill me, I can take down a scrawny middle aged man. Four months ago, I wouldn't even think of going this far for my little sister who did nothing but poke her nose in everyone's business, curiosity getting the best of her.

I started as my phone rang.

"Ashley, are you okay?" I can hear my heart pounding erratically again. My mind going through possible scenarios of what could've gone wrong in the few hours I've been gone.

"Shouldn't I be the one to ask that? You'll be missing dinner" she sounded worried for me. 

"College tours got extended for another week," I'm surprised my voice didn't shake with my lie.

"Oh," her voice fell. "be safe."

"I will," I'm sorry. I'm doing this for you.

With my resolve complete, I put on my helmet and started my motorcycle. The address Pete sent was only half an hour away from here. If my past self could see me now, going after a gem to turn back time, she would've laughed at my face and told me the statistics to prove it was improbable. I could see the tiniest sliver of chance and I'm taking it.