|Influences||Neil Gaiman, Sarah J Maas, TV shows (e.g. B99, Versailles), movies|
|Bio||Science student by day, writer by night. Sometimes, I destress by creatively writing and watching Youtube videos.|
Is ignorance bliss? - a realisation.
The Grasshopper was at the heart of the triangular-shaped university district. Online reviews constantly commented on the quirky nature of its owners and shop itself. Colours and wallpaper on its walls clashed with each other for dominance over which one would draw the most attention. The decor was a match-match of everything which included replicas of infamous artworks such as the Mona Lisa, delicate Russian ceramics, cogs and wheels hung on a tilted angle on nails, and her personal favourite, the tilted masterpiece that showed a beautiful Jacaranda tree with eleven people surrounding the tree, that always stole her breath away. It must have taken such painstaking effort and time to have created such an eye-drawing art.
Anyway, the owners were fond of changing the removable ornaments in the shop but they always kept the cogs and wheels as well as the row of unpainted, unglazed clay jars that stood straight on the top shelf of the wooden bookcase in the far corner. At least all of the hand-carved wooden tables and chairs in the cafe match.
There were always hilarious rumours about strange things like a moving cursed doll that resided in the shop for the short duration of a month or a chipped cup that was adorned with different flowers for an hour at midday. They were preposterous rumours. Probably conjured up by jealous rivals of The Grasshopper or bored teenagers who want to scare their friends. Abigail had been a loyal patron of this cafe for years and she had never seen anything that she heard from this false gossip. Sheesh.
Typically, a whiff of caffeine and the gentle hum of the espresso machine in the cafe energised Abigail and brought a smile to her face. Instead, she wore a troubled expression as she absent-mindedly shrugged off her scarf and beanie and ordered for her coffee. The server, Patrick, leaned forward over the counter, stroked his ginger-haired goatee, and frowned.
“Hey, Abigail. What’s wrong?” asked Patrick, voice tinged with concern as he assembled her regular order.
Abigail’s head snapped up and her mouth moved like a goldfish. “Oh, it’s nothing.”
Patrick scoffed. “Seems pretty serious because you’d normally compliment my ‘wonderful’ barista skills which, as you’ve pointed out before, are aided by my ambidextrous hands.”
Abigail sighed in defeat and reluctantly admitted, “I have this friend. I’ve recently learned something that has changed everything that I know about her and how I see her.” She’s a Werewolf.
She hesitated but at the sight of Patrick’s patient face and encouraging nod, Abigail carefully chose her words and slowly continued, “The actual crisis is that this person who she’s close to, has decided upon a choice related to me. My friend and I both disagree with this choice yet she still sides with the person that she’s close to.”
“Huh. You’ve found yourself in a pickle, Abigail. Just consider this perspective. First, this new fact shouldn’t change how you see her. You only have more knowledge now that gives better context about her personality and herself. She’s still the same person that you’ve always known.” Patrick paused, head tilting to the side. “Unless she’s a psychopathic murderer. If she is, then maybe you should reconsider your friendship.”
Abigail quickly protested about how that isn’t the case and quietened when she noticed Patrick’s teasing smile.
“Will this decision put you in direct danger or is it to protect you? Perhaps, even benefit you in some way?” inquired Patrick, pouring hot milk into a ceramic cup that has an espresso shot with added sugar and then handed it patiently to her.
She wanted to immediately affirm that Dwade’s decision would place her in grave harm. Truthfully though, she is an ordinary human being with no special powers or gifts so she would be way out of depth in Dwade and Beatrix’s world. While she would’ve liked to know about monsters and things that belonged in children’s books, it would be best if she was left ignorant of them. There was less danger that way. How many times has she wished that she didn't know so and so about someone? It's one of the perks of a police officer parent. Besides, she shouldn't be privy to such knowledge in the first place.
“Yes. It would protect me,” Abigail slowly responded, word by word, as an epiphany dawned on her. “I was too self-centred to realise that. Thanks for helping me, Patrick.”
Abigail grinned brightly, grabbing the mug in the process, and noted that it was a peculiar pattern based off the sun. While the design was very pretty, she decided that it was not her favourite one out of the various different-looking mugs at the cafe.
“It’s no problem for the super regular,” joked Patrick. “Your moping expression doesn’t suit you. You look more beautiful when you smile.”
“Aww, shucks,” shyly spoke Abigail. “How are the owners by the way?”
“At the moment, they’re sleeping. I had to open up the shop this morning. Something must’ve happened yesterday to tire them out. It’s strange. Misha is usually such a chipper person.”
“Maybe they had a few too many drinks on their date night,” theorised Abigail, giving a quick wave to Patrick and swiftly walked to her usual spot in the cafe near the window. Abigail flopped onto the cushioned chair, shuffling to get into a comfortable position and sipped on her toe-curling beverage.
Fatigue was fuelled by her late-nighter. Her eyelids slid closed. Her cheeks twitched. Then, she jumped to her feet and wiped the drool off the corner of her mouth. Abigail's head snapped to the clock that unmercifully declared the time. She's not going to make it to her lecture in time.