*Note to the Reader; Birthday Stories are exactly what they sound like, stories that are created and gifted to family and friends. They are short works of fiction in the raw, no copy edits, kind of like live theatre, what you see is straight from my imagination to you, pure, simple and honest and yeah, sometimes a bit weird - I hope you enjoy. RB
rayBYIERS
1310 20th Street
www.byiersmarket.com
Prologue
An emerging Playwright; Rhiannon Collett creates stories that stir the imagination.
The written word can be powerful and drive change. For centuries people have left messages for the next generation in many forms; from rock to papyrus, paper to computer.
In an ages of isolation the mind can be a good friend or a potent enemy.
Chapter 1
April showers
The month of May is supposed to be the month of flowers based on the nursery rhyme, but this year mother nature had other plans. A trough of cold arctic air that pushed its way deep into the south had left Toronto in the grip of a new altered state of hibernation.
May was also a month of celebrations; Cinco de Mayo, Cheung Chau Bun festival in Hong Kong (dedicated to the god Pak Tai, who saved the city from a plague), the festival always coincides with the Buddhas birthday, Mothers day of course, and the birth month of Rhiannon.
So today, as life imitates living; where small glimpses of hope rise out of the chaos like the flowers of May, Rhiannon could not think of a more perfect day to risk a short visit out to a small bookshop called Kimono's. It opened, in fact, despite of the obvious financial strain that many of its would-be customers were facing and in spite of its rather secluded location.
Kimono's was a classic secondhand bookstore cut into the square concrete blocks of the adjacent high rises.
You had to walk down a narrow semi spiral set of stairs to the door which was about a half level down from the street.
The shops name was stencilled in multicoloured chalk style font jutted towards the street so it was visible in either direction.
Rhiannon stepped Inside, the distinctly
familiar smell of leatherandpaperandink was instant.
"Why hasn't anyone ever tried to capture this smell in a scented candle?" they thought.
As they took in the surroundings, a petite
elderly woman shuffled over and introduced herself.
Rhiannon jumped letting out a small scream then laughed at the moment.
The shop's owner took no notice, overjoyed simply to have the company and greeted them like an old friend
"Welcome, welcome, thank you for coming here today."
The woman that stood before Rhiannon looked as if she were made up of mismatched puzzle pieces. Her hands were crippled into talon like claws that looked as if they were permanently wrapped around a tree branch yet she stood tall and muscular like a young athlete. She had grey strands of hair twined together with that was once flaming red curls all masterfully circled into a bun, and looked Icelandic but spoke with an Asian accent.
"You're trying to figure me out?" She said smiling.
"Wondering how I get along with these no doubt," holding up her hands.
"Most say nothing but are noticeably troubled while others try to over compensate by telling tales of their own," she tipped her head pausing to think, "well shared scars shall we say to promote closeness. "
"You though, you I think are different still, a Writer - Yes?. Come let me show you something."
With that, she was gone as quickly as she had entered and Rhiannon had to act lively to keep up.
They meandered through a labyrinth of shelves overflowing with books and magazines. It looked and felt more like a store that had been there for a hundred years rather than days. A flash, almost like a hologram caught their eye. It was like the scene in Star Wars of Princess Leia asking Obi wan for help.
"What is this place?" Rhiannon whispered.
The old lady smiled but said nothing and kept moving.
They stopped suddenly inside an alcove of books. A rectangular table stood in the center of the space supporting a black, leather bound buddha board, pencil sized paintbrush and a delicate terracotta dish centred of that.
They stood in silence for a brief time before the old woman spoke.
"Use your words carefully?" she said solemnly before turning away and disappearing back into the store.
Rhiannon picked up the paintbrush without hesitation and dipped it into the water that seemed to be shimmering in the terra cotta dish.
"What could be more relevant than a piece of birthday cake?"
The small sketch of a triangular shaped piece of layered cake complete with candle was already disappearing on the board as the flourish of letters ‘k’ and ‘e’ completed the title below.
Rhiannon stood back expecting to simply watch the words fade. Instead the letters came to life, lifting and moving across the tablet then down off onto the table.
They sat like fridge magnet chunks about 1 inch high, a small candle buried a third of its length into the letter Y.
The fragrant smell of chocolate permeated the space.
“No, No-no-no-no-no-no."
They picked up one of the letters, smelled it timidly then popped the entire piece into their mouth.
Giggling uncontrollably they mumbled out loud into the room, "Oh my God that is so good!"
Inspired, they drew a picture of a bee and wrote the three letters below. Expectations of a single bee were dashed as they swarmed out into the room until the watery ink dried. The room was alive, bees crawled over books and ceiling.
Shrieks of delight escaped out into shop, the old woman began to hum as she continued to unbox more books and move them onto the shelves.
About the Author
I love a good story and love sharing these completely original Birthday Stories for friends and family.
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