The Great Aethin Fairgrounds

The bus bounced briskly over the hill. The day was small but bright and waiting. A small gray and white Mouse with a tattered felt hat and green corduroy jacket sat on a seat towards the back, enjoying a coffee magazine on the commute to the market. He had travelled here on ship, to the city of Aethin, where roads were paved to a shine and a merchant's stall sat on every corner. Every Aethinian had something to sell, to offer, and those who didn't reside in the city of white gold travelled there from every corner of the stratosphere for those wares and services you could only find behind the border of the infamous orange gate housing the landscape, flat in landscape but scaling high in development, apartments packed towards the back like cans of fish while the pear of the oyster, the Fantastic Aethin Fairgrounds, hosted tables and covers as far as the eye could see, rows on rows marked out like a microchip the townsfolk of ones and zeros could direct through with ease. For the foreigner, as most in the marketplace were, one was provided with guides, or, as our friend prefers, you could simply wander in and let any specific shop find you. Things tended to go the latter for most guests inexplicably, but it was also undoubtedly good for business that your customers should always find you when they need, no matter the cost to get there. In Roucks, Mouses hometown, the tram rides come with quarter coffee machines at the back and red leather padded seats. The uncomfortable wood and metal of these sleek town buses were not a place where one would nap and find pleasant dreams, but missing a morning coffee can lead to any perceivable outcome, mouse realized, and the magazine slipped from his paws. He soon was in a weary slumber, unmanned ears still scanning for the final ding of the bell from the driver, signifying the arrival at the Fairground entrance.

Mouse sees himself on a path of gold. He runs along it, forward, the direction dreams often go. His eyes pick up small coins littering the path the further he goes, firstly the american bills he is acquainted with, Aethinian olets and rues further still, before he stops to pick up a few of the gold bars that appear. Above him, a silhouette dwarfing his stature soars past, but he doesn't halt his progress. He holds as much of the treasure as he can carry as his feet drag him forward, screeching to a halt in front of a pile of wealth nearly disgusting for one vermin to gaze upon all by himself. Mouse knows that this shiny mound is all for him, and ascends it to rest atop his throne gleefully. He can see now, only at the top of the pile, the silhouette. There appears a moonshaped face with a widow's peak, and dark eyes that see through and past him. He knows now that he is not welcomed here, never really was. The money was the glint at the end of a fishing rod, and he was the trout headed for the worm. The white belly and outstretched talons of the barn owl embrace him like a spark to kindling and the bark-like coat of feathers encase him in his tomb, his paws still clutching gold chains.

Mouse starts suddenly at the bus's bright automated ding, thankful now no drink had been in his flailing hand. No one was around to witness this jump, and before he could process the dream at all he had departed -rather, feld from- his seat. That was when it sunk in, wandering the market stalls after passing the white gold of Aethins Fairgrounds. He had heard his mother tell him a barn owl in a dream meant someone would steal something from you soon, and he was well equipped for a robber to get rather lucky that afternoon as he had planned for a few dozen purchases. His money was sealed in the inner jacket of his pocket and he had it guarded on his mind with the paranoia of a hypochondriac going through a book of diseases. His thoughts raced over and over, he pictured every creature milling by him suddenly lurching and ripping his belongings from him. His fists clenched and unclenched, and pearls of sweat rose all over his fur. He couldn't see through the crowd, and his heart was beating faster. He didn't know, didn't remember why he was there, where he was walking towards or when he would get there. He looked around desperately trying to get a sense of direction while he felt phantom hands reaching into his pockets. He spun and swattedly with despair and dread, confusion rising like a suffocating cloud of smoke. Suddenly the end of a row was reached and a corner was turned as Mouse basically bolted away from his surroundings. Two stalls down he drew the cold dark eyes of a merchant that made his heart sink, rise, and trip over itself in an attempt to stand up right. The barn owl's cream face watched him alone out of the crowd, waiting, and Mouse saw his vision go black at the corners, paralyzed by the gaze of this creature. He couldn't hear his heart beating anymore and barely had a moment to ponder if it had stopped all together or was simply going too fast to feel before his body crumpled like a sack of black fear and hit the ground. Drawing a few onlookers, the owl strolled from behind the stall in a sleek black suit. He raised Mouses limp arm up and took a few bills from Mouses inner coat pocket, made change at his till, and returned the rest to the flattened owner. He paid the onlookers no mind. He was no thief! He had set up and executed the service that owls provide specially. A merchant merely selling a self fulfilling prophecy.