Written Into Reality


Nestled in an off-the-grid petite country cottage situated in a Swedish valley, lived Juno-Brown, a hazel-eyed, dark brown-haired, eccentric, geeky, spontaneous, yet quite shy, youthful man.

As Monday approached, so did Juno’s curiosity. Across the narrow street was a peculiar, rustic antique store, which had seemed to have been there for decades. Juno finally convinced himself to explore for once. With hesitation, Juno pulled the creaking timber door open and wandered through. “Hello, is anyone here?” Juno’s questioning voice echoed throughout. Not anticipating any reply, as the store appeared to be deserted.

A man immediately appeared from a small timber door behind the navy painted oak counter; “Yes. Who may you be?”, asked a formal, stout man, who seemed to be in their late seventies. Juno’s hazel eyes glistened with surprise – wasn’t this place abandoned? He responded, hiding his dismay – “I’m Juno-Brown, and I’ve lived across the road for 8 years now, but have only come now to your antique store-”, the man interrupted “My name is Quilliam, though I prefer the label Quill. Are you interested in anything particular of mine?” inquired Quill, seeming somewhat shady. “No – thanks, I’m quite fine,” Juno mumbled – and ended the conversation quickly, as he wished to see what the store even had. In front of Juno were several dark spruce crooked shelves, cluttered with mismatching collectibles.


Toy convertibles, candles – made from beeswax (that smelt quite horrendous), tasselled lampshades, vintage books and beauty magazines dating back from the 1960s, retro ceramic vases, and china plates were the common thing that Juno saw. But little did he know he’d soon discover something more than life-changing. There was one tall oak shelf leaning against the far corner of the shop that caught Juno’s eye, piled with an array of various books, with one far different from the rest. His heart raced, as the suspense of what contents were inside the small book, titled ‘A Writer’s Spell’, rose. Juno cautiously wiped layers of dust off the battered, hollow book, and moved the small brass latch. Inside the velvet padded box was a small, intricate golden pen, engraved with a delicate design of tropical flowers.

Juno took a notepad from his blazer and swatched several words using the pen, in order to see whether the ink had yet dried out. All Juno wrote was ‘I am hungry’. Suddenly, pickle sandwiches flew out of the notepad floating around Juno. “Is this a dream?”, Juno questioned aloud, pinching himself to be certain – no… this wasn’t a dream… was it? I am quite hungry. Juno felt delusional. Desperately Juno crossed out the sentence with the same pen, and amazingly, the levitating burgers immediately vanished. Juno sighed with relief. Rushing to the counter Juno asked; “how much would this pen be?” – there was no reply. Guiltily Juno walked off, keeping the pen – as just like the burger, so had the man vanished.

Now he had power, or was it only his imagination?



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