First Story: Dandelions
Second Story: Newton’s Shop of Magical & Aesthetically Pleasing Artifacts
Published by Matthew Jankiewicz
Copyright 2013 Daydream Alchemy
Illustrations by Juan Andres Da Corte
Copyright 2013 Juan Andres Da Corte
Smashwords Edition
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DANDELIONS
The first thing I notice as I step into the cab is how absurdly dark the interior is, as if I had discovered a secret underground cavern. The second thing I notice is the cloud of smoky air that hovers around me like a ghost, invading every pore of my body.
Where you headed?
the cab driver asks in a scratchy, deep voice, stroking his plump fingers against his graying, scraggly goatee.
I tell him where I want to go, slowly, so that I don’t have to repeat myself. The driver turns around in his seat and gives me a questioning look as if he didn’t hear me correctly. He parts his lips as though he is about to say something. Then, thinking better of it, he slips the half-finished Camel cigarette into his mouth and, avoiding eye contact, turns around to fix his gaze back onto the road. I’m glad that he didn’t say anything. I’m not in the mood for meaningless prattle, especially with a wrinkly, leather-faced cab driver. He could never understand my circumstances. Nobody could for that matter.
There is a pause, a silence between us as thick as the smoky air. I am about to repeat myself when I hear the roar of the engine being woken.
To avoid the possibility of an awkward conversation, which lingers in this cramped space like humidity before a thunderstorm, I stare out the window. Through the smeared fingerprints on the dirty glass, the small local businesses pass in the quickness of a camera flash, most of them prominently displaying a For Lease
sign in their front windows. From what I could tell, a lot had changed during the last two decades including the color of the sky, which, as I remember, used to be painted a light indigo, but now displayed the bleakness of gray cinderblock. The McDonalds that my parents took me to every Saturday afternoon with my grandparents is now nothing more than an edifice without a soul. Thick wooden boards covering the windows are spray-painted with images of hands giving the middle finger,
