The Old Lady’s Tea House

  After about two weeks had passed traversing the expanse, the young man’s worries grew to immense proportions. There was no sign of anyone waiting for him, no clues, no further instructions. He had no idea where he had been, nor where he was going. He was completely lost and alone, several worlds away from home, and each step forward that the bug took made him feel even more lost, and even more alone.

  "Trust in the process of life" he repeated the mantra to attempt to quell his gnawing anxiety.

  One morning after the first sunrise, the crew cheered as a small outpost revealed itself on the horizon. At st, the caravan entered worn, stone walls, revealing a small town of tents, mud homes, and withered crops. The bug stopped at the town's reservoir with a loud thud, as it shoved its head straight into the water to drink. The conductor jumped down. His armor made of trash cnked like a bunch of pots and pans as his feet hit the floor, mostly because that's exactly what he was wearing. The crew scattered. Some carried fruit down the beast, while others ran into the nearest buildings, disappearing.

  The young man tried to board the caravan the next day, but the conductor gestured him to stop. Roa’s heart sank. Pointing to his mouth and stomach, shaking his head, the man must have said something along the lines of:

  "Times are tough, and this isn’t a soup kitchen. I don’t have money to keep feeding an extra mouth—so all the best, and good luck."

  Once the millionpede had drunk its fill, the caravan left the vilge, along with the traveler's only transportation. Feeling abandoned and fearing what was to become of him, Roa gathered his courage. He began looking for solutions after a long bout of anxiety-filled moments.

  "I made it all the way here, damn it, I even punched a dragon in the face. There is always a solution," he said, shaking his fist.

  He helped around town for free, and as a reward for his good gestures, he was often fed and even given a humble spot in a stable to sleep in. After a few days snoring next to what looked like a pink camel with three humps, he managed to secure a humble job with a kind, elderly woman. Due to her advanced age, she struggled to get her work done, so the boy’s strong arms were exactly what she needed.

  "I will work here until I can save some coins. Then, I will pay for the next caravan," he said, as he reassured himself on his little bed, repeating the mantra. "Trust in the process of life."

  Deep down, his mind was bubbling with worry. He did not have a pn, nor knew where he would end up if he did indeed manage to take the next convoy out. However, the mantra helped somehow, giving him enough hope to keep him going. To his great frustration, he could not understand the locals, never getting a straight answer concerning when the next one would even pass. Maybe they didn’t know. Maybe, there was no next caravan. The thought kept him awake often, until his insecurities were drowned by his persistent repetition of the mantra. It was as if he were trying to carve the words into his panicking mind, just like they were etched into the bark of the tree where he had originally read them—anything to keep the anxiety at bay, creeping in like a thief in the night.

  He spent his days working outdoors under the twin suns in the dried-up vegetable garden that his elderly host owned; he worked with the dead and barren soil as best he could, but understood why little grew there. He also helped indoors, giving her a hand with her tea shop, stocking and serving the few customers that walked in. She made tea and dates for him every few hours, allowing him to rest. She taught him some words in the local nguage, as the small, metal spoon swirled in their teacups, cnking gently. Most of all, she reinforced the importance of perseverance in his heart, albeit her frailty, poverty and hardships. She kept repeating something in her nguage each time she saw him sad or slouching, but it was only towards the end of his stay that the boy from Earth realized what those words meant.

  "Never give up."

  Eventually a caravan did pass, to his immense relief, after a long and anxious month. His shoulders rexed as he let out a long, slow sigh of relief as another rge insect marched into the outpost, straight into the reservoir, stopping to the sound of a loud thud. The Sunflower now had learned various sentences to communicate with the locals. He bid goodbye to the kind dy and thanked her for her help. She thanked him for his. She then presented him with a humble gift before leaving. Her eyes were kind and almost made the boy cry. She had been the first person to care for him since he had left home, and perhaps, he had been the only one who had taken care of her too, in a very long time.

  The boy unwrapped the paper, revealing the little teaspoon they shared during their breaks. It was so small and humble of a gift, but to the boy it meant a lot; he valued it as if it were made of solid gold and precious stones. She plopped something heavy, wrapped in a cloth into his hands—giant dates for the road. She smiled as they hugged, her frail arms barely wrapping around the boy. He said ‘thank you’ in her native nguage, and his heart filled with the same pain one feels when saying goodbye to a grandparent for the st time.

  Roa bounced around inside the tent, holding on for dear life. The second giant bug was shorter, chubbier, and had stubby legs that caused it to move closer to the ground, hitting every dune and rock on the way. He gazed out of his tent, looking for another outpost or city, but nothing but endless, identical dunes filled the immense horizon. The traveler from Earth now wore the clothes of the locals, and his skin had darkened after weeks under the potent, twin suns, Affah, and Ullriah. However, he felt left out and awkward around his new company. This crew was a lot less welcoming, scanning the traveler up and down, as if something were wrong with the way he looked, or acted.

  One day, the caravan rolled to a stop when the skies grew dark. The boy gnced out of his tent with a confused look on his face. It was the middle of the day. The creature rolled up onto itself, burying its legs in the sand, and the crew went quiet. At first the boy noticed pages falling from above, but soon after, the whole sky disappeared once they found themselves buried under immense piles of paper. He heard someone repeat what sounded like a chant, picking up the meaning of only two of his words.

  "Page—storm,” Roa murmured in the darkness.

  Everything went quiet as millions of loose sheets piled up like a mountain on top of them, pressing on their tents and bodies with considerable weight. They emerged to the sight of a cleric reciting, trembling passion in his voice as his hands rose up to the sky. The man wore a tall, conical hat and a long, bck robe. His head shook as his lips moved fast, revealing his yellow teeth. The man picked up several pages with great care, pressing them against his chest as he looked up. He closed his eyes, his expression intensifying, as if on the verge of tears.

  When the young man remembered the page, the one he had found many weeks prior, he pulled out the crumpled piece of paper and showed it to the others with a smile. Their eyes, however, shot open, as fiery looks gave way to shouts. Roa expected gratitude for returning one of the pages, instead, the sight only infuriated his hosts. The holy man’s bony index finger trembled as it pointed at him. His nails were long, brittle and yellow, and his palms were as soft as a baby’s bottom, free of blemishes or calluses. The crew closed in with a threatening stance, forcing the traveler off the caravan, shoving him and abandoning him to the desert. He watched in silence, as the caravan vanished behind the dunes.