Wyn walked away, confidently and hurriedly, but with no direction or goal. He wandered through the blocks of shophouses aimlessly until his feet stopped. He did not realise he had paused until he glanced at the shophouse standing in front of him.
It was a dainty and old blue shophouse. The age of the shophouse showed through its cracks in the blue paint and the fading of the white flower paintings on the run-down wooden door of the shophouse. A wooden signboard that sat on the top of the shophouse read Billy's Fairy Tale Stories.
Before Wyn had noticed, he was already in the shophouse. For some unexplainable reason, he felt drawn to the place, and he was compelled to enter.
Wyn is an avid reader. The only thing that brought joy to Wyn's miserable life was reading, writing, drawing and drinking. He loved stories, for they allowed him to immerse himself in a world he liked. When he read stories, he forgot about the unhappiness in his life. He forgot that he was an orphan who grew up at a contemptible orphanage, he forgot his hardships of working odd jobs and he forgot that his existence in the world was pointless.
That is the sort of person Wyn was. He was inferior and hated himself. He often wondered why he was born into the world and cursed with such a wretched life. There were times when he wished he could just dissolve into bubbles, like in The Little Mermaid. He wished God would kill him and bring his soul to heaven, like in The Red Shoes. He wished that he had a weak heart that would give out any moment and relieve him from his anguish, like in Giselle. However, there was that small period of time Wyn believed his life had turned around. His career as a web comic artist gave him confidence and brought him much needed wealth, but in contrary to what Wyn had hoped, his new wealth did not bring him joy. Alas, the only things that brought him joy were reading, writing, drawing and drinking. No matter how much he hated penning down the horrific nightmares he had of the island in his dreams, it would be a lie to say he did not enjoy brushing his digital pen against his iPad and typing out stories of his own. He enjoyed the process for he had a fancy notion that perhaps his stories would one day touch someone as much as his favorite books had touched him.
It is a love-hate relationship that Wyn has with his dreams and his stories. He hates them, but he loves them. It is a complicated feeling that can't seem to be explained and simply exists.
One could say that Wyn's motivation to draw and write came from the stories he loves to read. The stories brought him to another world, where everything was alright, and it was these stories that gave Wyn the hope and energy to continue on in life. Similarly, drawing and writing out his dreams as stories gave Wyn a purpose in life that pained him but delighted him at the same time.
Perhaps it was for this reason that Wyn subconsciously found himself in the antique bookshop.
As soon as he entered, Wyn was overwhelmed with the sweet, musky smells of old books. His feelings of discontent disappeared, and all of a sudden, he felt calm and serene. It was as though the strong vanilla scents of the thick, old books in the shophouse had hypnotized him into a peaceful and pleasant state of mind.
The shophouse is almost entirely made of wood. Shelves of wrinkled yellow books filled the shop with its thick vanilla scent. The place was like a library, a small, tiny library that contained only worn-out, dusty old books. But Wyn did not mind, for it is exactly these strong grassy aroma of old books that comforted him.
"Good day." A raspy voice greeted Wyn.
Turning towards the direction of the voice, Wyn saw an old round man standing behind a mahogany desk that was equally covered in dust as the books in the wooden shelves.
"Welcome to Billy's Fairy Tale Stories. I'm Jack."
"Not Billy?" Wyn asked softly.
Jack chuckled. "Billy is my great grand-father."
"Oh." Wyn remarked.
"What sort of books would you like today?" Jack asked.
Wyn took a moment to answer. "I don't know, really. I just…"
"Well, take a look around. I'm sure you will find a book to your liking."
Jack bore a wide, friendly smile on his face. Perhaps it was the alcohol and drugs confusing him, but Wyn sensed an air of mystery around Jack. There was a strange twinkle in Jack's eyes that made Wyn curious...
Wyn brushed away his thoughts. He ventured further into the shophouse and began to browse through the shelves of yellow books available. For some inexplicable reason, Wyn felt a sense of familiarity with the shophouse. A feeling of déjà vu fell upon him, and he felt as if he had been in the shophouse before.
As Wyn strolled through the shelves of books, Jack followed closely behind him, his eyes fixed curiously on the customer in his shop. Jack followed Wyn until he halted his footsteps several feet away from a bookcase that stood at the corner of the shophouse. Jack stopped as Wyn did, and he watched as the famous comic artist gazed melancholy at the bookcase in front of his eyes.
Wyn did not know why, but he was drawn to that bookcase. He stepped nearer to it as his hand instinctively reached out for the thick brown book slotted in the middle of the large bookcase. His eyes fluttered as he stared at the book. It was as if there was a strange force attracting Wyn to that book, luring him towards it, seducing him to remove the book from the shelf…
"Ah," Jack removed the old brown book from the shelf with ease before Wyn could do so. "An excellent choice. This is the oldest and thickest book in this shop."
Wyn was taken by surprise with Jack's sudden appearance. He did not realise that Wyn had been following closely behind him since he entered. He stared at the big, brown book that Jack held in his hands and listened intently as Jack explained the book to him.
"This is an old book that has withstood the test of time," Jack continued. "It has been passed down from one generation to the next, protected and cherished by its every owner. It has survived through the years, through heavy rain and storms, through fierce battles and wars and through unspeakable and unthinkable events that have led it to be in this city, in this particular bookshelf and in this particular shop," Jack paused. He met Wyn's eyes, and for a moment, a flash of nostalgia and intimacy graced Jack's face, but he quickly covered it up with a small smile.
"This book has called to you," Jack handed the book to Wyn. "It is yours now."
Wyn studied Jack's face for a few moments. He found the man absolutely strange with his big words and story about the book. Wyn could feel that there was something atypical about the old man.
"How much is it?" Wyn asked.
"There's no charge."
Wyn looked at the old man curiously.
"For this book, there's no charge in monetary terms."
"What do you want then?" Wyn asked.
"Nothing. The book picks its owner, not the other way round."
Wyn raised his eyebrows in confusion. "What?"
Jack smiled enigmatically at Declan. "It is with fate that this book has chosen you. Use it well, for it is a book that will rewrite your destiny."
Wyn stared at the old man in confusion. He was a peculiar old man who had said some bizarre stuff that Wyn did not quite understand. He tried to decipher the meaning behind the words Jack said, but he could not find a reason for the old man's baffling words. As such, he assumed that Jack was simply speaking gibberish and desperate for attention after not receiving customers in a long time. He pushed his thoughts about Jack's words into the back of his mind and turned away from him, ready to leave the shop.
But as he approached the door, he found his neck twisting backwards to glance at the old man one last time.
"Thank you," Wyn held his new book close to his chest.
"No," Jack shook his head. "Thank you."