We are but dreamers without a dream, lost in lostness - Micha The Lazy

Whenever Garvin felt lonely, he sat by the creek at the edge of the village. Behind the bushes where women would let the washed clothes dry on the bushes, he had his little spot. No one bothered him there, though no one kept him company either. He just sat there at the edge of world he knew, as his thoughts meandered almost as much as the water.

There was quite a list of things he didn’t like in his village. Firstly, the roads were always muddy. Then the fields were almost swamps for most of the year. Sheep and bison trampled it by the masses. Then, the people were boring. He often compared them with ants, like how he could place a stone in front of them, and they would go around it and continue on their path. Never wondering how the rock got there.

He grabbed a stick a poked the water. The water flowed around it and continued, barely hindered at all. Some dead leaves flowed on the stream, like a boat would. Though he didn't know where it would take him. It had been six months to the day since the last time Garvin had news from his parents. He didn't know if something had happened. He often waited months before he had a response, but six? He threw the stick to the other side of the small river and decided to go to the book shop. It often had something to cheer him up. If not, it was the only place he wanted to be. He slapped the dirt of his pants, and started walking.

The rest of the village wasn't any better. The people were perhaps the worst of whole Ar’Moor, so Garvin imagined. Or the most boring. Nothing like his parents, or like the heroes in the books. The people here were practical, with no room for anything new. They weren't stupid or evil or anything. Midwinter was a great festive, like midsummer. It's not like they never celebrated or cheered, but apart from these two days it was as lively as a widow staring at the urns of her children.

Accompanied by these thoughts he walked over to the book shop, shoulders drooped. Alfred was like him, they could be lonely together. It was his only friend here.

The sign of the shop was painted in red, and with blue letters it read; Alfred's. Most names in Ar’Moor were just short and simple, this one was no exception.

‘Well, if it isn’t my best and only customer, Garvin!’ the owner exclaimed when he walked in.

‘Hey Alfred. What do you have for me?’

‘Already ploughed trough the other books I gave you? You are a quick reader, my boy. You read more than the whole village together!’ He exclaimed. ‘Though it doesn't necessarily mean it's a compliment for you.’

‘The book about the Axe Mob Mashers. Yeah, as the title gave away, not really my thing. But I was wondering. Do you have any maps?’ Garvin asked.

‘Hmm, most definitely,’ Alfred said as he touched his beard, something he often did while thinking.

‘A recent map of Ar’Moor would be great.’

‘I don't have a recent one, lad. But no worries, rarely anything ever changes around here.’

The man pulled a big parchment from behind the counter and opened it.

‘This is everything above the Big River, every forest, village. Even has some of the temples on it. But can I ask you something? What do you need a map for?’

Garvin looked at the man. He didn’t know for sure either.

‘I just, you know.’ he stammered. ‘I want to know whats out there.’

‘Out there? What do you think is out there, boy?’ Alfred asked.

‘I don’t know.’ Garvin looked outside and could see the distant forests.

‘I know what you need. Stay right here, I need to search it first. Its not something I give often. Never actually.’

Alfred disappeared in a backroom, as Garvin dreamed of the horizon trough the small window. Of a sudden, blond hair blocked the view. Garvin gulped.

The door opened, a bell rang. Inside came Mathilda. Her hair was like straw, her skin as freshly fallen snow. She had the perfect nose that only babies were allowed to have, and radiant blue eyes.

‘Hey, eh, Mathilda.’

‘Hey. Garvin, right? Well, have you seen the shopkeeper?’ Mathilda had little holes in her cheeks when she smiled, which she didn't do at the moment.

‘He is eh, busy.’ Garvin leaned against the counter, and maybe the costumer mistook his poor stance as confidence, so she asked him for a book.

‘Do you guys have The Bell Tolls?’

It was the title of a book for absolute beginners, or children. Garvin looked at her belly, it was flat as ever.

‘Eh, yeah, we do. Let me.. Search for it.’ He knew the bookstore like his home, yet his mind fogged up. Think, idiot, think, he thought.

‘Its for my fiancee. I want a special gift.’

‘You’re getting married?’ Garvin cried out.

‘Yeah, Darren and I will marry this summer, at midsummer eve. I will teach him to read.’

Darren, the son of a lumberjack who was as stupid as the flat side of an axe. He imagined them both reading together in front of a fireplace and started to feel an inexplicable pain in his stomach.

‘Can I eh, ask you a question?’ Garvin said suddenly, with his head in the closet between the books Farming Explained and Ruckus.

‘Of course.’

‘Don't you ever think there’s more to life than this village?’

‘What do you mean exactly? Like, other places you can go?’

‘Like a life outside of here. A life somewhere.. else. Settle for something more special than this place.’

I don't know, Garvin, I have everything here. My fiance, my family, friends.’

‘Yeah, of course.’ By complete luck, his eyes fell on the book. It was rather thin and had a blue cover.

‘Found it!’ he exclaimed.

‘Excellent! Thank you, Garvin. You know, the wedding is going to be something big here in town. I will invite you to it.’

‘Oh, thats nice, but I don't think I belong there.’ Garvin said.

‘No, you should come, maybe you can meet someone as well, and maybe we will be celebrating your marriage before the year is over.’

‘Yeah, at midwinters eve,’ Garvin joked.

She left some copper coins on the table and disappeared as abruptly as she appeared.

‘You did good to come work here at the bookstore.’ She said before closing the oak door. 'It suits you.'

For a second he could see her smile, then she was gone.

‘There you go.’

Garvin turned around startled. ‘You!’

‘Yes, me, Alfred. The owner of this very shop.’ He opened his arms to point the store they were in.

‘I'm sorry, you just scared me. You had a customer, Alfred.’

‘So I noticed. Too bad I couldn’t be there, its like sleeping trough an sun-eclipse. Anyways, this is for you, lad.’ In his hand he carried a leatherbound book.

‘What is this book about?’ Garvin asked.

‘This may be your most important book yet,’ Alfred said as he solemnly placed the book in Garvin's hand. Garvin opened the leather cover. There was nothing written inside.

‘Its empty,’ he said, almost expecting a joke.

‘This is your book, your story.’ Alfred said. ‘Since you read almost everything I gave you to read. You can return the favour, perhaps and write me a story instead.’

‘But, I can’t,’ stammered Garvin. His stomach rumbled like a faraway storm.

‘How can you know when you never tried?’ Alfred responded.

Thus Garvin left the shop. With a book, a map and a great need to take a poop.