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 mostly uninhabited, populated from some indigenous tribes who lived on the coastline. But deeper into the island was nothing but hazardous jungle and long abandoned ruins. He didn't know much about the people that lived there, outside of them fighting tooth and nail to keep the island protected. It must have been where he was going before he died. Symon thought it strange that someone would risk crossing such treacherous terrain --not to mention the currents between there and the mainland-- just to see an insect. Though he supposed he shouldn't judge, after all he had his own obsessions that rattled in his brain incessantly.
Though the room was fascinating, he realized there was nothing left of value to sell at the antique shop. Such a pity. He could honestly see himself looking through this place for hours. 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 this house, without a return address.
Symon wondered if the professor 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 agreed, 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. Before he entered the main room, he could hear music playing inside. He opened to the rather vivid interior. His home, at least on the first floor, was lively even when no one was inside. red terracotta tiles lined the floors, and striking patterns separated the main froom from the terraced kitchen and back garden. Bohemian wicker furniture sat atop a duree rug along the site is mismatched with victorian era oak mates that his mother was desperate to have in the home. Almost every square inch of the sunset hued drywall was covered in paintings and photos, telling a story of years of history that his family had with the house. Memento's previous adventures and travels, and photographs of his ancestors constantly watching over the family’s shrine.
As usual the house was rather quiet in the evening. The shutters out to the patio were open to let in the cool, petricore scented air inside. As usual, his parents had already eaten dinner and moved on with their night, knowing Symon would be home late. The rain usually made his mother's joints ache, and she'd find herself in bed earlier than usual on days like this. Meanwhile Izzah, his young teenage sister, was sprawled onto the telephone bench —a newer gadget added to the home and one that the young girl was practically obsessed with— 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.
“I figured. How has your evening been? Is it that gentlemen Mr. Francisco on the phone? The one you’ve been eyeing lately?” He asked with a mild teasing tone.
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 earnestly. “I thought it was pretty. See, the jewels are placed what its eyes would be.”
“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 stopped by the table, finding a lonely cooling bowl covered in a cloth that was waiting for him to get 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. It was a level of coziness that could only be found in complete and total isolation. It was his safe space, away from the loudness and chaos of the rest of the house. The room was only big enough to house a twin sized bed, a chest of drawers, a small loveseat and his worktable. They were all cramped, shoved tightly into each other to make as much use out of the small space as possible, but Symon didn’t mind. The room has its own bathroom, a sizable closet, a nice view of the other surrounding villas, and most importantly, privacy.
He sat down at his desk shoving the result of half finished projects and unresolved paperwork off to the side and ate his food in silence, listening to the rain beat down on the window. He picked at the lukewarm dinner for a bit, the mung bean soup his mom had prepared had started to congeal and dry out in places, leaving an unpleasant texture that he could only really eat around before giving up entirely, and moving the bowl out of the way. He removed his satchel and dug through it a bit to find his prize, the fossil, still inside.
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