The Store, Another One
Tom looked down the street and was astonished to find that the new store was already open. It had only been a week since they broke ground--now it was open, operating, a line around the block. It was the perfection of simplicity, square, white, a simple sign that simply read “The Store." Even the customers seemed to conform to its plainness: one line of downtrodden customers shuffling in, one line of happy customers flowing out.
He checked his watch. No time to browse--he had to make it to the bridge. As he passed The Store, he felt his need to enter a bit more intensely than usual. Perhaps because one was in his neighborhood now, or because he’d already been in them once too often. But, dependant or not, his first priority was the bridge.
The bridge was about the only place he felt normal, or safe. He was quite familiar with it, and with the people that frequented it. Six times a day for six hours a day he was there. Most people spent about the same amount of time; some more, some less. The new people usually spent more time, looking for things they'd lost on the way to town. Sometimes they’d find odds and ends, but they never found everything.
That’s what The Stores were for.
When he'd first come to town there was only one store and it was constantly crowded. It’s stock was minimal, and people argued and fought over things they thought were theirs. Prices were outrageous. Demand was high, production low.
Then the powers-that-be decided to start producing one hundred percent, all day everyday. The Store started popping up all over town. It eased the tension a bit when people found they could purchase almost anything they wanted...if it could be found and they had the cash.
But somewhere, someone found out the goods they bought with their hard earned money weren’t exactly like the things they'd lost, and then all Hell broke loose. Constant riots, demands for refunds, stores were destroyed. The powers-that-be took it all in stride, however, doubling the amount of stores built and bringing prices down so low that even the poorest soul in town could leave with a shopping cart full of lost goods.
Most importantly, they were now honest with their customers. Yes, they may have deceived people with a little false advertisement in the past, but that was needed to keep hope alive. Yes, some of the products were mere replicas, but the real McCoy’s were in there, too...somewhere. At the right store at the right time, people were guaranteed to find their item! Their catchy new add was “Couldn’t find what you want at the bridge? Just go to The Store and buy it! It just may save your soul...”
Tom loathed the stores. He’d never found any of the items he needed to leave town, and the lines were still so dreadfully long. Was it his third visit to The Store he'd spent ten years in line, just to get in? He couldn’t remember, but he did remember none of his items were there. He’d heard once that someone did purchase an item that was authentic and it did help them leave town, but he thought it was a lie. He was beginning to suspect this whole damned town was a lie...
Tom preferred the bridge. At the bridge all the items were authentic, but he hardly ever found what he needed. Sometimes he did: Last year he found a knife that he'd cut his brother with when he was ten. Eight years before that he found a wallet he stole when he was sixteen. Twenty years before that, a nice double find: the necklace of a girl he'd molested and killed and the severed hand of a gentleman who'd pointed a finger at him in a bar.
Yes--the bridge was much better. Sometimes when the flow of brimstone was slow and the sulfur count was low, he could even smell the world he'd left, or the world he might get to. His only hope was to find the items that sealed his fate here...or purchase them from The Store.
