Smallscale

Symon was allowed to spend the night at Aniso’s for that night, telling him his father wouldn’t be back until morning. He was given the bed again, while Aniso crawled into a fabric hammock hanging from the ceiling. However, sleep would not come easy for him. Every time he drifted away he’d be bombarded with nightmares that woke him in a cold sweat. He kept seeing visions of his family, but twisted and full of hatred. They felt like more than just dreams. He was remembering something. 

 

The last time he’d wake from a particularly bad nightmare that made his back sting, and his hands shake. Symon awoke from the nightmare in a panic. He stifled a yell so as to not wake the host who was so kind as to let him stay there. In the silence and dark of that tiny cabin, he stared as his eyes adjusted. He had no idea what time it was, and he could barely make out the forms of furniture in the room through the oppressive darkness. All he could think about was the stone in the grotto. He knew it was familiar. He knew it had the answer to what was going on, why he was here, why he was a bug. He got out of the bed  and headed out of the cabin in a rush, but not without waking Aniso, who  just caught him leaving.

Symon stormed out into the cold night, breath heavy but determined as he made his way to the Grotto. He snuck into the entrance, past sleeping gate guards and wandered into the main hall. All of the candles had been put out for the night, and the only thing illuminating the grand center of the tree were the glowing mushrooms that crept from the bottom of the stone. It was tall and intimidating from up close. It’s magical energy pulsed slowly, giving Symon chills. He slowly reached out his hand, and could feel the tickle of magic on his skin as he nearly made contact with its surface.

“Symon!”

He was stopped by a harsh whisper, He turned to find Aniso behind him. He’d followed behind, concerned about where Symon could possibly be going this late at night.

“What are you doing?” He continued. “Remember what happened yesterday?”

 

“I have to, Aniso.” Symon stood his ground. “It’s the only lead I have to what happened to me. I have to remember!” 

 

Aniso ran towards him, “Wait-!”

Without hesitation, Symon pressed his hand against the cold surface of the rock. As soon as he did, He felt locked in place by a powerful force, and felt as if all of his energy, his essence, was being pulled into the stone. A red aura engulfed both him and the stone, and suddenly his mind was flooded with memories.

❇❇❇❇

Symon awoke from a nap to a loud ringing that faded into the rattling of wheels on tracks, and the chatter of people outside. He found himself in the street car he was taking to work. It was early in the morning, the sun was just barely peeking over the tops of the buildings, drenched in dawn hues. The streets were just filling with the morning commuters making their way out on foot. 

 

He must've dozed off. He pulled his watch from his pocket to make sure he wasn't late. Only five minutes had passed. He was lucky, considering he'd stayed up far later the previous night than he was supposed to. He had gotten quite invested in one of his recent projects, a miniature diorama of his favorite tea shop. Working with small wire and balsa wood had put him in a deep concentration, and before he knew it, it was 3 am, and the oil in his lamp was almost out.

 

He was used to running on a few hours of sleep. Night time was the only time he really had to himself, where he wasn't either working or tending to his family affairs. Usually he is pretty lucky, as a merchant, he traveled a lot, which left him ample time to doze off between stops.  Though a risky behavior, more than a couple times he’s found himself missing his stop after being invested in a particular dream.

 

After waking he readjusted himself in his seat and fixed his glasses, making sure the decorative chains were still fastened on nicely. He turned his gaze out the window. They were just passing over the river that flowed through the city from the mountain. The bridge sat nicely at the top of the hill where you could see the river flow through the city of Minau and out into the ocean that reflected the coral hue of the sky.

 

“I always love taking trips in the morning,” The elderly woman next to him said. “Those who sleep in late miss out on lovely views like this.”

 

Symon fidgeted with the latch on his bag awkwardly. He wasn’t expecting this stranger to strike up conversation like this. This is why he hated getting on crowded street cars. The risk of having to have a conversation with another human was already too great. 

 

“Go long enough without sleep and its beauty begins to wear out, I suppose.” He replied.

 

The old woman gave him a displeased look. “Well, that’s quite the negative attitude to have.”

 

Was he negative? He didn’t mean to be negative.

 

“I’m just speaking the truth ma’am.” He retorted. “I’m more of a night owl than a morning person, I suppose.”

 

“Well, you should really learn to appreciate life more. Before you know it, you’ll be old and tired like me, and it’ll be too late.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He dismissed. Frankly, he already felt tired every day from his job, at least when he’s old, he might be able to retire. All mornings did was drag him out of the comfort of bed and remind him he had another nine hours of a job which he in all honesty, hated with a passion.

On the other side of the bridge he’d entered the townhouse district. A cramped neighborhood he’d been to a number of times before. It tended to be either young bachelors or the elderly that lived out here and when he wasn’t in his shop, he was out here looking at the latest estate sale. What the elderly tends to have a lot of is antiques lying about, and that was his specialty. 

 

That was precisely what he was out here to do today. 

 

The bell tolled for the townhouse district drop off, and Symon made his way off the streetcar, stretching his arms out with a yawn. It would still be a walk before he arrived at a cramped apartment in the middle of the neighborhood. The doors were wide open with people walking in and out of it. He was not the only person looking at this place, and there was a reason for it.

 

Loitering by the steps was a rather burly looking man. He had a thick mustache that obscured his mouth, and hair up and down his arms, but none on his head. It was his boss who was waiting for him, smoking a cigar.

“Good morning, Raja” Symon greeted professionally as he pulled his satchel over his shoulder. “This sale in particular is quite busier than I expected.” 

 

“This guy's family declared him dead last week, seems to be some well known scholar of sorts.” He said bluntly, taking another drag from his cigar.

 

Symon gazed at the people bustling in and out of his house, many of them scholars and upper class folk who look absolutely scandalized to be caught walking around in such a commoner neighborhood. 

 

“Dr. Garrison Anderson, yes?” Symon clarified. “I’ve heard a bit about him. An entomologist who hailed from the Europan isle. He’d traveled all over the world.”

 

“Just to look at bugs.” Raja scoffed. “You read the obituary too huh?”

 

Symon shook his head. “Actually I heard about him long before now. When I heard about his disappearance I did quite a bit of personal research on him.”

 

Raja raised a brow. “You have that much free time?”

 

“I just fell down a rabbit hole, I suppose.” Symon admitted. “I just found the story interesting. He’d made great strides in his field, and then mysteriously disappeared for nearly a decade.”

“Heard a bunch of his stuff was found washed ashore recently and that’s when they called off the search. The poor sap must’ve gotten shipwrecked out there.”

“How dreadful…” Symon mumbled to himself, expression unchanging. “I hope his family is handling it alright.”

 

“Well they were quick to pawn off all of his stuff. The man was  a bit of a hoarder. We ought to find something interesting in his collection." He finished off his cigar and flicked the remains in the general direction of the trash can, but still missing it by a good few inches. He pushed himself off the wall with a grunt and headed inside the building, with Symon following close behind.

 

Dr. Anderson's house was cluttered with valuable relics and artifacts from various locations around the world all hastily placed to and fro about his house, clearly never expecting guests to come in. The only items that truly had a proper home were a few of the more fragile items that sat in glass cases, and the fine art hung up on the wall. Everything else had a thick layer of dust on it. The house had gone untouched for years before today.

 

 The man had clearly done a lot of traveling in his life, and enjoyed bringing home cultural mementos of all the places he had been. Symon wondered why such a wealthy foreigner like him would ever make his home in a tiny little peninsula like Bituin. 

 

“He really does have quite the impressive collection, I wouldn’t mind having some of it for my personal collection.” Symon noted, as he stared at the absolute treasure trove of antiques that could use the touch of his restoration skills. Some of them only needed a bit of cleaning, maybe a fresh coat of paint, and they’d be back to their lustrous beauty again.

 

“Stay focused Symon.” Raja scolded. “We’ve got a budget to keep in mind.”

“R-right.” Symon stepped away from the antiques only to notice a door with a small metal placard on it that read ‘Entomology Room’. 

 

“That must be where he did his research.” He mumbled to himself.

 

Raja turned to see the door and his face twisted in disgust. “Eugh-! I don’t even want to think about what’s in there. I can only hope it’s all dead, that's for sure…”

“I wonder if there’s anything interesting in there.” Symon said, with his interest now piqued.

 

Raja grumbled. “You can look around if you feel so inclined to do so, but you won’t catch me dead in there. Bugs make my skin crawl.”

“I’ll at least check to see if there’s anything of value in there.”

“If you insist. I’ll be in the gallery, without the spiders.” And with that he waddled his way into the main room. 

 

Symon opened the door into the entomology room. Inside was a messy collection of insect specimens littering the tables and desks. Old enclosures and cages lay empty and dust covered from abandonment, the creatures inside now dried, decaying shells, meanwhile the walls of pinned butterflies and beetles remain preserved in their original beauty. The desks held stacks of books about various different species, and journals full of diligently written notes. 

 

On the wall behind the main desks was a large world map, with images of certain species pinned in different locations. From the islands of Showa, to the cold tundra Veilkaya, across the Eurasis Stretch and all over the Commonwealth. The professor was a well traveled man. Many of them have had big green Xs marked down on them, all except for one island off the coast of Bituin. 

 

Nawala Island. 

 

It was so close to home, a mere days ferry ride from the southern city of Linabo, yet he'd purposefully saved it for last, circling almost all the way around the globe just to come back to this one spot.

 

It was uninhabited aside from some indigenous tribes who lived on the coast. Its status as protected land only came from the government's lack of resources to settle on the dangerous jungles the island hosted. It must have been where he was going before he died. Symon thought it pitiful that someone would risk their life going to a largely uninhabited island just to see a bug. It must have been special, whatever it was.

 

Not seeing anything of value in the room, Symon turned to leave when he found himself tripping over a box, falling onto his hands and knees. When he looked down to see what got in his way, he found an old sea-water stained wooden box. The shipping stamp had it set to be sent to his house, without a return address.

 

 Symon wondered if he had in fact made it to his destination, and it was the return trip that had done him in. The box looked like it hadn’t even been opened since it was pulled from the shore. It still reeked of seaweed and salt. Symon was morbidly curious to see what was inside and pulled the lid open.

Inside a bed of drenched packing straw was mostly junk. Ruined paper, an old canteen, broken jars, half a pencil. This box must have been prepped to throw in the trash. He then noticed something odd in the garbage. 

 

It was a smooth, oblong stone. On its face was the fossilized remains of a cicada, almost perfectly preserved in stone, as if it was a picture. You could see the outline of its eyes, its little legs, even the veins on its wings as clear as day. Underneath the fossil there were the smallest carvings of words in a script he didn’t recognize. He was absolutely astonished that such an item was just left discarded under a dusty old table, instead of being put on display like the rest of the artifacts for sale. He even felt a touch empathetic, seeing it be abandoned as it was.

 

The piece called to him in a strange way. He’d love to have it in his personal collection, but he knew the boss would kill him if he spent money on ‘a stupid rock’ as he would call it. Plus it wasn’t marked for sale. But, if he left it here, it would most likely get thrown away with the other junk.

 

If working with antiques for years had taught him anything, it was to never pass up something with potential. Such an artifact could not be dumped in a landfill, not on his watch.

 

He picked up the stone, and immediately was met with the strangest tingling sensation rising up his arms, like thousands of little worms crawling under his skin. He let out a yelp and immediately dropped the stone. He knelt down to make sure he hadn't broken anything, only to notice the cicada fossil was now glowing ever so slightly. 

 

 

Magic…

 

Symon wasn't unfamiliar with magic, not many were. There were rumors of its existence, especially amongst the superstitious elders, but that sort of thing was always saved for scholars and druids living as hermits. Personally he wasn't sure if he even believed in it, but here he was, staring at a rock that glowed for no discernible reason. 

 

As he contemplated what to do, he heard footsteps coming to the door along with Raja's voice calling to him. "Symon? What on earth was that noise?" 

 

As the doorknob began to turn, Symon panicked and shoved the stone into his satchel, ignoring the awful sensation of guilt from doing so. When Raja finally opened the door, he saw Symon on the floor over the half open box. 

 

"What is going on in here?”

 

"U-uhm… I apologize. I didn't see this box here and I tripped over it." He came up with a convenient half truth on the spot.

 

Raja raised an eyebrow at him. “My word Symon, must you be such a clutz? We’re here in fine company.” 

 

“My apologies sir… I’ll get this cleaned up right away.” Symon replied, already putting the lid back on the box and shoving it back under the table where he found it.

 

Raja tisked. “Be more careful, and if you would, come out of this room already, It’s unnerving, and we’re not selling pests in the shop.” He eyed the insects with disgust.

“Will do.” Symon got to his feet, adjusted his satchel, and followed Raja out of the room.

The rest of the estate sale was comparatively uneventful. Both Symon and Raja got their hands on some quite valuable antiques that would be perfect to sell at the market, mostly thanks to Symon’s bargaining skills. Symon even got a few items for his personal collection like he wanted, including a lovely little jewel beetle shaped pendant. He wasn’t much of a jewelry person himself, but such a piece would make a lovely gift for his sister. 

 

But all the while, he couldn’t stop thinking about the stone in his bag. He couldn’t help but notice a strange ringing, almost like a haunting song, that would hum so faintly in the back of his mind, that it was almost like one of his own thoughts. He wrote it off as his nerves being shot. The small apartment was overly crowded with people as is, loud and smelling of strong perfumes and tobacco. He didn’t like being around people as is, but the upper class seemed to have no sense for other people’s boundaries as they pushed and shoved people through.

 

“I think we should go.” Symon said. “I think we have everything we can get here, and I need to get these items back to the shop before my shift is over.”

 

“Agreed. If I have to talk about politics any longer I’ll need to drink.” Raja agree’d ushering Symon out of the apartment. “That was a good haul. They’ll be perfect pieces to display when we travel to Linabo tomorrow.”

 

“We’re traveling again so soon?” Symon blinked.

 

“I told you we were going south for a convention a week ago.”

 

Symon averted his eyes to the ground, staring at the ants that navigated around his shoe and the dark spots forming from the sprinkling of rain over head. He tried to recall when he’d been given this information, though he knew Raja had a bad habit of making rushed plans and poorly communicating them.

 

 “Right… It must’ve simply slipped my mind.” He said. “I’ll be ready.” 

Symon returned home late that evening. It had started raining while he was moving the haul to the shop, and by the time he was finished, it had grown into a full downpour. He had once again neglected to bring an umbrella, causing him to have a rather wet walk home. 

 

He arrived at the rather sizable, Mediterranean style house at the edge of town that he called home and walked inside, now soaked from the rain. As usual the house was rather quiet in the evening. The fire was going and soft music was playing on the record player in the main room. As usual, the family had already eaten dinner and moved on with their night, knowing Symon would be home late. 

 

Izzah, his young teenage sister, was sprawled onto the telephone bench, giggling and chatting away to a distinctly male voice on the other end. That was until she saw Symon walk through the door, in which she frowned as if his very presence was inconveniencing her. She pulled the phone from her ear and covered the talk piece with a hand.

“I know you’re going to ask, Mother and Father have already retired to their room for the night, so no need to stand around looking so lost.” She told him.

“Ah… I see. And how has your evening been? Is it that gentlemen Mr. Francisco on the phone? The one you’ve been eyeing lately?” He asked.

Izzah’s face turned flush as she scowled at him. “Ugh-! S-so what if it is? It’s none of your business, you nosey oaf!” She pouted and went back to muttering into the phone, attempting to ignore Symon.

 

“I brought you a gift from the sale.” He offered.

 

“Oh?” Her demeanor switched instantly, and she perked up towards him.

 

Symon opened his hand to reveal the pendant and Izzah stared at it with dazzled eyes until she noticed its shape. 

 

“Why is it a bug?” She asked.

 

“The previous owner liked bugs.” Symon answered.

 

“Hmm…” Her excitement disappeared almost as soon as it came as she took the pendant from him. “Well I suppose it’s pretty enough. If a bit weird. Certainly nothing I can wear out…” She made eye contact with him while he fidgeted expectantly. “Thank you brother now… go on! I’m on the phone.” She shooed him off.

 

  He smiled in relief at the encounter, and grabbed the plate of food off the table that was always left out for him when he got home and brought it to his room. His room was a small, cramped area at the top of the stairs, far enough from the rest of the house that it stayed quiet, just how he liked it. 

 

He sat down at his desk and ate his food in silence, listening to the rain beat down on the window. He picked at the lukewarm dinner for a bit until he was bored, and pushed the leftovers aside. He removed his satchel and dug through it a bit to find his prize, the fossil, still inside. 

 

Part of him still felt rather guilty for taking it, but another part of him knew none of those snobbish collectors would have cared for such a find. It would have ended up in a trash pile along with everything else in the apartment that couldn’t sell. He had no intention of selling it himself anyway. Instead, he opened a drawer and pulled out a box full of similarly odd and wonderful trinkets. Artifacts he’d found here and there that he wanted to restore himself with time. He placed the stone in the box, where it would be kept safe for the time being. 

 

Alas, he simply didn’t have enough space to display all his pieces. He’d picked the smallest room in the house out of courtesy for his family. His parents obviously need the master bedroom, and his sister required the room with the large closet for her ever growing collection of party gowns. One day he hoped to finally leave for a place of his own, but currently, he needed to stay and work off the debts and loans of his family. His father was disabled after a work injury, and his mother had always been rather frail and sickly, especially now in her old age. For now, his dream of having a place of his own and quitting his merchant job was far, far in the future. 

 

He had to put his mind off it for now. There were things he wanted to do before he had to sleep. He slid over what initially looked like a pile of glued balsa wood, but in reality it was the form of his favorite tea shop taking shape. He’d just finished building up the walls, and carving out the shape of brick work. Today, he was ready to paint it. He spent time mixing his colors, and layed down coats of dark tones, and lightly washed it with the brighter colors. This gave the bricks a realistic look. Every step he would lean back and look at the whole piece from afar, and couldn’t help flap  his hands in glee as it came closer and closer to his vision. It was this quiet, meticulous work that made Symon the happiest. Every stroke of grey paint between the cracks in the brick work put him in a zen-like state of peace.

But as his night continued, he felt a touch nauseous, and his stomach began to twist and churn in protest. It made it difficult to paint with his hand shaking. He wondered if his food had been out too long and had spoiled. Or maybe the stress from the day's activities were finally catching up to him. Eitherway, he found himself too sick to his stomach to continue working. 

 

It was perhaps a good thing he decided to quit when he did, as when he checked the clock it had already struck 1AM. He’d only have four hours to sleep if he were to go to bed now. He could get lost in his work so easily, sometimes he wished time would stop while he worked.

 

The night was strenuous. He tossed and turned at the pain in his stomach, and was uncomfortable the whole time. It was a miracle he got any sleep at all when he awoke that next morning. He laid in bed, exhausted and aching all over. It’d been a long time since he’d truely felt ill, he hadn’t recalled getting sick once in the five years he’d been a traveling merchant. He was notoriously extremely cautious about touching other people and keeping things clean. One couldn’t be too safe with his job. But today, he was in quite rough shape. He didn’t even want to move, as his arms and legs were throbbing. He desperately hoped it wasn’t food poisoning, or worse a cold from yesterday's rain. He wondered if for just a moment he could simply go back to sleep, but that was interrupted by a knock on his door.

 

“Symon. Are you still there? Weren’t you supposed to be heading out of town today?” His mother called through the door.

Symon’s brow furrowed and his eyes slowly moved towards the clock. ‘8 AM’. His heart dropped into his stomach when he saw that time and he failed to get out of bed. But as he did, a sharp pain in his legs sent him falling onto the hardwood floor with a loud crash. Several objects from his night stand fell on his head, including his alarm clock; which on further inspection appeared to not even be set to go off.

“Symon?! What’s going on in there? Are you alright?” His mother continued calling through the door.

 

“I’m fine!” He called back, while rubbing his sore legs. But as he did, he felt a wetness on the back of them. He pulled his hand back to find they were smeared in blood. The patter of blood dripping on the floor informed him that his arms too were bleeding. 

 

“I may be bleeding actually. It’s fine though.” He clarified.  

 

“Oh dear, I hope you haven’t broken anything. Please hurry though, your boss called 5 minutes ago.”  

 

She was right, he had to hurry. He was already very late and now on top of getting ready for work, he had to clean up these cuts. He slowly stood up, but noticed no glass had fallen to the floor to cut him. He panned over to his white sheets and noticed that there was blood soaking them aswell. He was confused, had he scratched himself in the middle of the night? He did have rather troubled dreams. 

 

He hobbled over to the bathroom by his room and proceeded to start washing off the blood when he felt a jolt of pain, like static through his arm. When he moved his washcloth, long dark hairs were burrowing their way through his skin. In a panic, he attempted to pull the unsightly hairs out, but instead was met with a searing pain that shot down his nerves and made his fingers numb. Whatever they were, they were extremely sensitive. 

 

He pushed down the lump of anxiety in his throat, he’d have to ask his general practitioner about that later. For now, he opted to hide the hairs and the wounds they left in their wake with gauze and bandages. 

 

By the time he’d gotten dressed and backed his things, he heard a ring on the doorbell. He let out a groan, he knew who it was before his mother called for him.

 

“Symon, your boss is here looking for you.”

 

“I’m aware.” He mumbled under his breath. He grabbed his aching head realizing it’s far too late to call in sick now, so he plodded down the stairs and towards the door, grabbing a piece of bread roll from the dinner table.

 

Raja began to rant in the tone he only used when he was trying to sound big and sophisticated around his parents. “Mr. Cantillo! Are you aware of what time-”

 

“Yes. I know. I’m sorry. Let’s go.” Symon blurted out as he rushed past the man and down the sidewalk.

 

Raja seemed a bit taken aback by Symon’s behavior. “Excuse me, I was talking to you.”

 

Symon was already 5 feet down the sidewalk when he turned his head to his boss, mouth full of bread. “We are in a rush, are we not?”

“Good luck at work darling.” His mother said before closing the door on Raja.

 

Raja let out an exasperated sigh. “This is coming out of your paycheck, Symon.”

 

Symon was quiet the whole walk to the train station. It was an oppressive, awkward silence as he munched on the bread roll to quell his stomach after missing breakfast. Even the crunch of biting into the bread felt like he was doing something wrong in Raja's eyes. Never in his years working with him has he ever been this late, and the thought of how angry Raja must be made his stomach tie up in knots. 

 

The two of them took a seat on the benches at the station, it would be another hour or so before another train could take them to their destination. Symon just kept his head down and tried to keep quiet, to not earn any more ire from his boss, with the hope that he'll feel better once they arrive in Linabo.

 

However, sitting still quickly became difficult for him, as his stomach was not settling in the slightest. It churned nauseatingly and it was becoming quite noisy, much to his embarrassment. He tried to distract himself by fiddling with the clip on his satchel, popping it open and closing it with the metal snap he found satisfying on his ears. Usually, fidgeting helped him when stress made him feel ill, but it just wasn't working. His stomach was cramping up now, and he couldn't stop himself from doubling over. He tried to pretend he was investigating his shoes to not draw attention, but it seemed Raja could feel his subtle trembling shaking the thin metal of the old bench.

 

Raja looked over at him with a raised brow. "Symon." He spoke suddenly, and the boom of voice caused Symon to flinch. "Stop actin’ so skittish, dear lord. Look, as long as nothing else goes wrong, we can chalk this morning's incident as a fluke, and you probably won't lose your job. Mostly because I'll be hard pressed to find anyone else with such an abundance of useless knowledge on antiques as you. But what I don't need is you shaking in your boots all day. That does not inspire confidence, Symon, and no confidence is no sales. The market is cut throat out in the southern cities. A meek merchant isn't gonna stand out."

 

It seemed Raja was convinced Symon was simply frightened of him after being retrieved from his home. And while that was certainly a contribution, Symon wondered if it was necessary to warn him about his condition. But surely he was just over reacting to a little stress induced nausea, right.

 

"Sir, I-" He stuttered for just a moment, speaking was difficult when he felt sick. "Sir.. I assure you, while I deeply regret this morning's transgressions, I'm not upset about… a-about…" Symon struggled to finish his sentence as bile rose into his throat. “Oh no…”

 

“What’s the matter with you, lad? Raja scoffed.

 

“Urgh…” Symon groaned. He was going to be sick.

 

He panicked, looking for a safe place to run to, but it was a rather sparse train station filled with people. In the heat of the moment, he couldn’t even remember what direction the bathroom was in. Without thinking he did the only thing he could think to do on such short notice…

 

He vomited over the platform edge and onto the train tracks.

 

He coughed and his nose and throat burned as he spat remaining bile out of his mouth. Symon quickly felt the hot shame rush to his face afterwards. He'd swiftly brought attention to himself, and he sat on the ground, unable to look up from the soiled ground, in some vain hope that if he stayed motionless, he wouldn't have to see everyone staring at him. Symon suddenly felt as though the world was watching him, judging him as if he were some drunkard, or an unruly child. He pulled the cape of his coat tightly around himself and it took every ounce of him not to break down. Breathe. Breathe.

 

"Hey!" The boom of Raja's voice once again shook Symon, who was now far more sensitive to loud noises. He feared that this would be where Raja would finally dismiss him permanently. He'd have to walk home a disgrace to his family. It was over!

 

"Symon!" Raja called again, now closer. "Look at me."

 

Symon slowly turned his head to his boss, like a puppy who was about to be scolded. "S-sir... I… I'm s-so sorry I-" 

 

"My god you're green!" Raja interrupted. "Why didn't you tell me you were ill?!" 

 

"I-"

 

"Get up! I'm sending you home."

 

"W-wait what??" Symon stumbled to his feet, the woosiness in his head threatening to send him tumbling into the tracks. Raja kept him stable with a firm hand against his shoulder.

 

“I’m not having a sick man with me on a trip to the other side of the country. I’ll handle the convention on my own. You’re going home.”

 

“But… but this is supposed to bring in a lot of money.”

 

“Not when you’re getting sick of our customers! My decision is final.”

 

“Y-yes sir.” Symon finally conceded, gripping his satchel and trying not to cry.