Work Text:
You’re walking through the supermarket. It’s dimly lit in the way supermarkets are near closing time. There are a few fellow late-night stragglers. People are going about their business; no music plays because it’s so late. No one’s hurrying. This is, after all, a 24-hour supermarket.
Isn’t it? You shake your head. You’re probably just tired from work or something.
But it’s Saturday…
Whatever. You go to the one of the furthest aisles of the store, searching for the ice cream.
The long, cold aisle contains no one else. It’s the quietest part of the store. The bright lights flicker and fade for a few seconds. They come back on. Where’s the goddamn sherbet? Or were you looking for Moose Tracks?
You crouch to take a look at the bottom of the freezer. Footsteps approach quietly at the end of the long, cold aisle. There’s another sound, a quiet clicking and shuffling. Your head automatically swivels towards the noise.
A soft smile comes across your face as a bloom of pleasant surprise spreads in your chest. It’s the same feeling you get when you meet a childhood friend you haven’t seen a while in your hometown. A bittersweet feeling: initially pleasant and warm as you chat and catch up, but it eventually leaves you bereft and chilly—like moving from summer to fall—as you wrap up your conversation and promise to get together soon. You both know you won’t, but…it was nice to see them again.
Nostalgia for simpler, happier times.
But the two people at the end of the aisle aren’t your childhood friends. At least, not the flesh-and-blood ones. These are your childhood ink-and-paper friends. The ones who taught you, comforted you, and brought you to different realms of time and space in books.
The young man grinning widely is dressed impeccably in modern clothes. Ranec. A young, dark-skinned artist from the Cro-Magnon age. You first met him in the pages of Jean Auel’s “Earth’s Children” pre-historical fiction series. He waves you over eagerly, pointing to the sherbet and Moose Tracks, which are, confusingly, right next to each other?
Ranec laughs at your baffled expression and thumps the giant bug next to him good-naturedly.
The giant insect huffs. Maybe it’s his version of a laugh? You realize who he is: Gregor Samsa. Gregor, the hard-working and overburdened human salesman-turned-giant insect from Franz Kafka’s symbolic novella “The Metamorphosis.” He nods, as if reading your thoughts.
You look between the grinning human and the timid insect, confused. These are fictional characters. Beloved characters, but obviously they don’t belong in your local Walmart! Or Publix? Where are you—?
“What is this place?” you speak hoarsely and gesture wildly to the lit supermarket. Suddenly, the ceiling is gone. It’s all open sky now. You look in surprise at the sunrise above. The sunrise is the same color as the orange-pink-yellow sherbet. A woman dressed in Ancient Greek garb bustles past you with a baby seal in the front seat of her cart.
Ranec looks at you, a little sad. He spreads his arms wide, shrugging slightly:
“This is where dreams go when they die.”