The Wish of a Paper Boy

Part Three

Finding paper turns out to be harder than expected.

Turns out that due to the decline in fresh food and necessities, our town had exchanged most of their books with the neighbouring town Ombra, who were in fact devoid of knowledge and had wanted to buy all of our books in our existing bookshops in exchange for fresh vegetable seeds that would withstand the harsh Melona heat, and animals sturdy enough to give birth to offspring throughout the year. While it has never occured to me that paper is an object of great value in itself, walking along the streets makes me realize how much we've given away. People wrap their meats in their aprons instead of having translucent sheets normally used to keep the meat safe, while other merchants have resorted to selling homemade handkerchiefs made from worn-out linen from clothes that they would've probably thrown away otherwise.

I keep my head down and my hood up as I make myself invisible in the crowd, slipping in and out in between bodies and trying to steer clear from the bustling activity as much as I can. This is the thing with being made of paper; you have to be on constant alert every second of the day, as if your skin is forever tingling with bad kind of goosebumps.

Throughout the next few weeks, I manage to salvage whatever kind of paper I can -- a torn newspaper thrown into the trash, some worn-out tissues that I find scattering over a coffee shop floor. But that itself isn't enough. To get what I needed, I would have to travel to Ombra, the neighbouring town, and I'm not sure how my mother would respond to that.

Of course, she exploded in my face about the danger and the potential risk I'm taking, reminding me how she had risked her own life for mine in an attempt to guilt trip me.

But I already had my mind set, and stubbornness is a trait I had inherited from her side of the family.

It takes me a few days to get to Ombra, but when I do, I realize a little too late what my mother had warned me about. It is surprising what a little distance can do, for while the village of Melona is surrounded by a family of trees and a thick dense patch of forest, Ombra is hidden between the rocky grooves. It lies at the foot of one of the greatest mountains we like to call Mountain Magi, as the legend talks about numerous magical spirits and a community of elves that would push any stranger off the high edge of the cliffs if they were to get on their bad side.

As I try to find my way around a path that would lead to the village's main road, I can't help but slide and stumble occasionally, causing the soles of my feet to tear off little by little, bits of my skin floating through the air like dandelions as I grit my teeth against the pain and continue forward, in the hope that it will somehow get numb as time passes.

It doesn't.

By the time I reach the bottom of the rocky slope, both feet are bleeding profusely and I stuff both wooden sandals with more cotton balls that my mother has slipped inside my bag for protection. I hope that this will be enough to soak it all up. As I am strapping my sandals back on, I hear an unfamiliar soprano in the distance.

"Hey, you."

Looking up, my silver pupils land on a girl who seems to be around my age, hair tied in a thick braid and her dark, striking eyebrows furrowed at the centre.She has what seems to be a hammer made out of stone strapped to her hip, and as if she notices my eyes lingering on the weapon, her hands quickly grasp on to its handle like a safeguard.

I don't blame her. I am, after all, just a stranger.

"Who are you?" she asks, voice cold and without sympathy, "What do you want with Ombra?"

I scramble up and ignore the screeching pain flaring up at my ankles, "I come in peace." I say to her in an attempt to sound confident.

But before I can take another step forward, her hammer is at my throat. It is so close to my skin that I feel the chilling fear running down my spine.