Distortia is a fanatical world filled to the brim with legendary crafts and mysterious systems with the capital of it in all it's wonderful glory, Psillyia.
Tinkering trinkets, gluttonous gifts, magical machines just to name a few. To be a merchant...
In order to end a story, It must begin. If one is to die, They must have loved and lived.
- Master Kane
I'm awakened by the pour of morning light against my face, seeping through the shutters. Maybell moans, dreary and wedged between Harry and Harriet's cocoon of sheets, as my mind wonders to the slither of gold dancing across the room.
Another day begins then. I can hear the click clanking of water pales passing up and down the alleyway, some empty and some filled to the brim with secondary rate pump water. We live in the slums near the town centre, haphazardly crammed where ever there was space. It's cheaper than outside on the edge of town where it's more spacious; further from the slums.
Mum's coughing from the other room slightly startles the others and so I get up to tend to her needs, the syrup, the herbs - then there's breakfast - and helping her with the chores before eight o'clock.
Mum was diagnosed with banes breath shortly after I turned fourteen and so had to get used to the hard life pretty quickly: eat, work, errands, chores, eat, sleep. Twenty four-seven, every day of the year. No breaks, no holidays, nothing. I guess it's better than living on the streets, not knowing when you're gonna eat again and be forced into crime, gangs or worse.
Harry, Harriet and Maybell don't have to work yet due to my pay which suffices for the rent, mum's story telling makes just enough for dinner. Besides, the only work available for children aged ten and under are either shoe rubbers, partial-slaves and chimney sweeps. I'm not letting them do Any of that yet.
"Mama, where's tinkle? He didn't come down for breaky." Maybell manages, almost face planting the table, and more importantly, her 'breaky'.
"Maybe he's still in bed?" I answer, remembering the odd plushie snug tightly in the messed up sheets.
Slowly, she makes her way upstairs, a yawn escaping her tiny mouth before she can say thank you. She's cute, no one can deny it, which is another reason why I don't want her to work. Creeps will do anything to try and nagg someone for a couple of coins.
It's disgusting.
"Ryder, how long till you come home today?" "How long will you go working today, Ryder?" The twins investigate me simultaneously, only slight differences chipping at their questions. Today will probably be a short one, just helping at the shop and trying to avoid the big boss: I paid him a little late this time.
"Not too long, why? You wanna know for how long you can cause trouble?" I reply with a stern look on my face to nudge their shock a bit.
"Of course not!" They both scream at the top of their lungs, they only wanna know if they can visit the monthly display in town centre.
"Ryder, stop teasing your little siblings. You have enough work on your hands as it is, go on, you'll be late." Mum, how you have the kindest way of keeping this family from killing each other. I make sure to not make too much racket with the door as I unfasten the the creaky door lock, don't want old man Joe blabbering on about it for the next week.
The walk's not long to work slash 'Thompson & Thompson'. It's a small clock business in town square that isn't so popular but makes a good profit. It's run by the Thompson brothers - both ex police officers - who don't know much about their own work in the first place; why they got fired from policing.
The crowded alleyways twist and turn towards the centre of Halesting, running like rivers to the sea. How many times have I done this now? I can't remember, at least three years' worth. Feels like just yesterday I was polishing boots and scampering around for work, how the days pass by.
"When are you gonna stop workin' for those nutters, eh?" Mrs P spurs from down the way.
"When it's possible to land anything better, Mrs P." I drone.
"That's what you be sayin' every year!"
"Then I'll phrase it differently next time." Just leave me alone already, when are you gonna get that I'm won't work with you in that tavern. It sends chills down my spine just thinking about it. "Maybe you should talk to Jerry down the road, he's a bit bored."
"Oh, well then, I'll see you around, sweetie! 🌟" she winks one of her infamous smiles and sleaks down the other way.
Finally, even after all that fuss with Mrs P, I'm still here on time. The younger brother, Mr Thompson, has only just begun to open up shop, switching the 'closed' sign to 'open'. His attire consists of a bowler hat, soot and tie, combed moustache and rounded shoes.
"Good morning Mr Thompson, anything need doing yet? "
"Not yet I'm afraid young man, maybe Mr Thompson will have something for you inside." He adds I enter the slightly muggy clock shop, I notice the older brother, Mr Thompson, rummaging around in the back. Looking for the keys to the till no doubt.
"They're on the counter next to the chain display, Mr Thompson."
"Ah, thank you, young chap but I Already knew where they were. "
"Of course you did Mr Thompson." I sigh at the comedy of the brothers, they're always so forgetful. They even forgot who each other were at one point when there was a "break in". Turns out it was just the two bumping into each other whilst looking for each others' secret stash. "Is there any work for me, Mr Thompson?" I chirp.
"Just the usual I'm afraid, young chap. Oh, actually..." Mr Thompson crouches over the counter slightly, glancing around the shop for any signs of his brother. "I was thinking-" As if! "That we should put up a display in centre today." He whispers, grinning like a child confessing to his friends about a devilish raid on the cookie jar.
"Are you sure, Mr Thompson? That didn't end very well last time." I whisper anxiously. Not only is that the first place the big boss will be, but it also means we'll have to compete against high-end companies; Mr Thompson and Mr Thompson aren't that great at sales.
"Oh, it's fine. Thompson and I have talked over it and thought it a swell idea. Come now, young chap, the city awaits!" He sings, walking stick in hand, through the shop to the entrance. We're awaited by the other brother who cheers, "come along, young lad!" They're just as bad as each other, what is it about twins? They're either surprisingly stupid or miraculously mischievous. I heave the box left behind and head after them.
Little did I know, that choosing to follow those two babbling baboons would lead me to the gravest decision of my life.
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[Thank you for waiting so patiently! I was busy but now I'm full speed ahead. I hope you continue to read and let me know what you think so far. 😊]
