The Old Shoppe (312 Words)

Tucked away on a back street you could be forgiven for not knowing it even existed. It doesn't advertise its wares, its not the most inviting store you'll ever see. It has no window displays, in fact the glass is frosted hiding the inside from the prying eyes of the outside world.

If you were to venture inside, just out of curiosities sake. You wouldn't find shelves full of stock, or mannequins dressed in their Sunday best.

You would find an elderly man sat patiently at an empty desk right at the back of the otherwise empty store. You would have to cross a sumptuous green forest of a carpet to reach him.

He wouldn't speak to you when you did get there and would raise his hand to hush you if you dare try and speak to him.

He would look you up and down and then open one of the drawers in his desk and give you what he thinks you deserve, not what you want or what your heart desires. 
What he deems you worthy of.

That’s how I got this pocket watch, its beautifully made, I reckon its solid gold. I thought it was faulty at first as the hands wind the wrong way but then I noticed the date window, it said "Seventy Five" when I collected it.

That was ten days ago, it says Sixty Five now. Its counting down, to what I don't know, but each day my heart sinks that little bit lower, the despair creeps that little bit further into my soul.

I tried to take it back, demand an explanation, no money ever changed hands so a refund is out of the question, but the store is never open.

I've sat outside all day, no one ever goes in, no one ever comes out.

And still the watch keeps ticking on.

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