FFM3: Don't Shake the Jars"It's just $5,000 dollars, for real?"
Andrew stared into the jar. He could almost see the people, but the outline of the city was very small, vaguely Ancient Chinese, vaguely Ancient Greece. The jagged edge of the what he guessed to be the main temple wasn't quite familiar.
"Some would say it's a bargain," the salesman said. From the way his lips thinned under his pencil thin moustache, Andrew got the impression he wanted to snatch the jar out of his hands and hide it on one of the many shelves. The store had hundreds of the jars, hundreds upon hundreds. If the man couldn't part with one, there was something wrong with him.
"I'll take it," Andrew said, handing the man his card.
He'd never really thought about owning an entire civilization before. He'd gotten lost looking for the Potion shop, and ended up in Civilizations R' Us. He'd seen the ads on tv, made fun of them with Kelly. Who puts civilizations in jars and sells them to amateur wizards? It wasn't just crazy, it was stupid.
A Door That Knocks From WithinI met her on accident.
I never got out much. I had an okay job in an okay building in the middle of an okay city. I kept it up because I couldn't live on nothing, but I also couldn't live off of nothing. I put on the same grey suit every day (dry cleaned on Saturday and picked up Sunday) and spent nine hours at a desk typing words into boxes.
I'd been there for four years and my supervisor didn't even know my name. I had good conscience that the only ones who did were Pierce, who I shared a cubicle with, and Bernice, who I shared a cubicle wall with.
No, this isn't all about Bernice. She was old, thick and leathery, and wheezed just standing up to peer over the divider and ask me if I wanted a cup of coffee. She reminded me of my aunt, my mom's older sister, who said she smoked to keep off the weight but was still fat.
This is all about Este.
The dry cleaner that I brought my suit to on Saturday was a man named Ti who spoke very little English