It was mid-morning, my eyes were blurry and my head was sore. I stretched my legs, rubbed my eyes, scratched my head and sat upright. I reached out to grab my wife’s arm, but then I remembered: she’s dead.
I can’t believe that just two months ago, I had a lovely son. He looked like his mother. I remember how small he was. My wife, Sheila, couldn’t stop smiling until the next morning, she wouldn’t even let him down. I had such a wonderful family, a perfect marriage and a perfect child. I found it even harder to believe that just last week, they were both gone.
The war between Aspha and Kiel has lasted for so long that I doubt either of the sides know why they are fighting for, but still neither of them refuse to back down. Innocent people, like my wife and son, are forced to pay with their lives for the stubbornness and arrogance of the politicians and generals that rule the countries. For their sick pride.
But enough of my sulking for today, I believe I’m already behind on my schedule. I put on my jacket and went downstairs to the shop.
My wife runs the family antique shop, but now that she’s gone, I have to take care of it. Since my wife had always been the one to manage the shop, I had no idea what I was doing. I’ve been struggling everyday just trying not to break anything, it’s been going well. I’ve only broken seven vases so far, and only one of them was extremely expensive. But if I didn’t break things, the rest of the day would normal, for it wasn’t a particularly large shop, it wasn’t very popular either; some days had customers, some days it was completely empty.
But this particular Saturday, a man came bursting through the shop door, panting. He was tall, in his early thirties and he had auburn hair slicked to the side. As soon as his breathing calmed down, he scurried back to the door and locked it.
“Sir,” I said, staring at him, “C-can I help you?”
“Where is Sheila?” he asked in a trembling voice as he walked up to the counter, “Where is she?”
I hesitated.
“Tell me!” he demanded.
“My wife is dead.” I said, as I started polishing the first thing I could get my hands on.
He banged his hands on the counter, then grabbed my collar. “Tell me,” he said, close to tears, “What was your wife thinking when she sold me that thing?! Do you know what it did to my wife?! Do you-?!”
“I can assure you sir,” I replied, removing his trembling hands from my neck, “I do not know what my wife was thinking. She never told me. She died, didn’t I just tell you that?!”
“She deserved what she got! That witch deserved to die! But Jane didn’t! It’s your wife’s fault! It was that-!” I cut him off with a punch to the face. He fell to the ground.
What right did this man, this stranger, have to say such words about my wife? What could she have possibly done wrong?
“Sir. I do not understand a word of this nonsense.” I walked up to him and grabbed his collar, “But if I hear any more ill words about my wife, I promise you that the last thing you will ever see is a Chinese vase striking your cranium.”
His breathing slowed down, he slowly stood up and brushed the dust off his clothes. “I’m sorry mate,” he sniffed, “I… I’m just having a hard time figuring things out.”
“Believe me, mate,” I replied, “After your little performance in my shop today, so am I.”
“I’m Anthony Revland by the way,” he said, reaching his hand out.
A Revland! I thought. They were known throughout Kiel as one of the noblest families in existence, they owned at least a hundred properties. It was quite a sight to see an actual member of such a family in my store. I can’t believe I threatened to hit his head with a vase just earlier, I could have been sent to jail.
