Oneshot

Most people would assume a bus trip is a frivolous, mind-numbing waste of time. But this wasn’t the case for Arthur. He found it the perfect time to daydream, reminisce, and take in the serenity of the shifting suburban landscapes. Although the thick fog that blanketed the streets made this somewhat challenging.

He sat at the front of the bus, just opposite the driver. He often took up this spot, which kept the bus drivers from rushing off before he could sit down. At his age, a fall could be devastating. It was absurd that the vast majority of drivers failed to consider the passengers' well-being. They seemed fixated on reaching the next stop on their tight schedule.

But sitting at the front also allowed for the extroverted Arthur to make small talk with the driver. He had tried on several occasions during this trip to strike up a conversation. But whether it was the concentration required in this weather or simply a rotten personality, he didn’t reciprocate such small talk. It was not like Arthur could chat to anyone else either. Arthur was the only one on the bus.

“Has it been a busy day today?” Arthur asked, once more trying to strike up a conversation.

“No,” replied the pot-bellied driver, instantly shutting it down before it even had a chance to begin. The driver had a slight stain on his white t-shirt. His patchy, greasy hair and unkempt facial hair made him look like he’d just come in off the street, and he drove like it too.

Sensing the approaching destination, Arthur reached up and pressed the red ‘next stop’ button. A slight ding sounded as the light flickered on above the driver's head.

“This your stop, old man?” the bus driver asked, his rough voice offering no comfort to Arthur, who was already anxious about missing his stop.

“Indeed, it is,” Arthur replied, tilting his head slightly with an affirmative nod, hoping desperately that the bus driver would accommodate his request.

“Alright, very well then, if that’s what you want,” the bus driver replied, focused solely on the road. Arthur barely caught the smirk creeping across the driver’s face.

The bus pulled up to the stop, the wheels grinding against the curb, causing the entire bus to rock violently. The driver didn’t acknowledge such poor driving. The doors swung open with a piercing screech, causing Arthur to flinch.

“You might need to grease those doors,” Arthur remarked with a slight chuckle, opting for one last conversation before he departed.

The bus driver’s lips curled. A shiver, that was not from the cold winter’s air, ran down Arthur’s spine.

“I don’t think that is the biggest worry for you now, is it, Arthur?” There was a glint in the driver’s eye that didn’t sit right with Arthur.

“What do you mean by…” Arthur didn’t get to finish his question before the bus driver turned his attention back to the road, pretending that he hadn’t heard his query. Seeing how futile any further conversation was, Arthur carefully shuffled down the steps.

He wasn’t as steady on his feet as he used to be, so it took a bit of extra time. He hoped desperately that the bus driver wouldn’t be frustrated. He was moving as quickly as he could. His wooden cane assisted in maintaining balance.

“Sir!” The bus driver called out as Arthur reached the bottom of the steps. Arthur turned his head to see the bus driver getting out from behind his protective screen.

“You forgot your satchel,” The bus driver called, passing the small, tanned leather bag to him.

“Thank you,” Arthur replied, embarrassed as he grabbed the small bag from him.

How had he forgotten to take his satchel? It was one of his most prized possessions, second, of course, to his family.

“You take care now, Arthur,” The driver smiled as the bus pulled away, vanishing into the endless fog that obscured even the light of the sun. A haze of grey melancholy, blanketing the streets in an icy reminder of winter.

Arthur took up a seat on the metal stool. The coldness permeated through his trousers, causing his bones to ache. He rubbed his gloved hands together. The frost of his breath swirled in the foggy air as he took in the world around him.

Dreary.

Damp.

Depressing.

The bus stop was miserable. But he held some comfort in knowing he had a purpose. It was pretty much the only thing giving him a sense of worth at the moment. After retiring, he found he had all this free time and nothing to do with it. It was enough to drive a man insane. But at least he had one thing to prevent him from slipping into utter despair.

Sitting at this bus stop.

He was helping his daughter out, waiting for his granddaughter, Amy, to finish school. He enjoyed being needed. Arthur checked his watch, confirming the time as a short while past noon. Amy wouldn’t arrive for several hours.

He could sit here for several hours until she arrived, or he could pop down the road and visit his friend Hendrix, who owned a lovely café. Surely it was a more productive use of his endless time. Besides, he had his watch, and he had lived in this town for countless years. There was no need to worry about missing the pickup time.

Arthur pulled himself from the bench and brushed off his knees. He reached for his trusty brown satchel. That was when he first noticed her, an eccentric-looking girl with neon-green-dyed hair that fell down her back, watching him.

How long had she been there?

He couldn’t believe he had missed such a strange girl in his time on the bench.

In her hair was a tiny, hand-sewn panda plushie. Several other plushies hung from a green chain attached to her oversized black jacket, worn over a black t-shirt and, despite the frosty wind, a skirt that was a little north of the knee for Arthur’s comfort. Arthur imagined that her knee-high socks were insufficient for warmth.

She locked eyes with Arthur and skipped over in a silent ethereal dance.

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” Arthur asked, checking once more that he had his satchel.

“I wonder about that?” the girl replied, a playful smile playing on her lips as she skipped a few steps closer and spun a half spin to lean against the timetable poll.

“It is important to stay in school for as long as you can. I was forced to work in the factories at fourteen.”

“Sounds tough.”

“It was, but it was a good honest pay. It gave me meaning, but I’m retired now.”

The girl walked over and held out her hand as if she expected Arthur to take it. Arthur took her hand.

“My name is Atlas.”

Strange name, for a strange girl. Her parents mustn’t have loved her to name her such, Arthur mused. Still, she had manners at least; perhaps he was too quick to judge her.

“Hello, dear, my name is Arthur,” he replied, taking her hand and shaking it gently. “You know, you shouldn’t smoke. It’s bad for your health.”

The girl smiled.

“Ah, no need to worry, pops,” she pulled out the cigarette from her mouth. “I don’t smoke.” She removed the item from her mouth, revealing that it was merely a small spherical lollipop. She placed it back in her mouth. “Anyway, what are you doing sitting at a bus stop all alone, Arthur?”

“I’m waiting to pick up my granddaughter from school.”

Thinking about Amy, Arthur noticed a dampness running down his face.

Why was he crying? He couldn’t understand his own body's natural response.

Atlas removed her lollipop from her mouth once more, twiddling it between her fingers. “Why are you crying, Arthur?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, reaching into his trouser pockets to retrieve a kerchief. He rubbed it against his face and felt a rougher surface that irritated his already sensitive skin. Still, he didn’t want to let this random girl witness his momentary lapse in character.

“Don’t you truly not know the reason you weep?” Atlas mused as she shifted her gaze upwards. “By the way, Arthur, you shouldn’t use that to wipe your eyes.”

Arthur glanced at his handkerchief, which was in fact not a handkerchief at all, but rather a greying doily. Embarrassed, he shoved the doily back into his trouser pockets. His tears had dried up by this point anyway.

“Anyway, I’m waiting for my granddaughter.”

Atlas tilted her head to gaze at Arthur, raising her eyebrow in the process. She wore a sly grin, a spark of mischief in her eyes as she continued to probe him. “At this time?”

“I like to be earlier rather than late.”

“But aren’t you here a little early?” she pressed, taking another step towards Arthur.

Arthur certainly didn’t want to admit that he must have made a mistake in coming so early, especially on a day when the weather was so poor.

“I thought I’d enjoy some time outside,” he tried to find any excuse for his actions.

“But it’s freezing, Arthur,” she commented as she spun around and self-embraced, putting on an exaggerated shiver.

“The weather isn’t too bad. I grew up without a heater. When you were cold, you just had to dress warmer and sleep under blankets.”

“Well, you were worried about my health; now I’m worried about yours, old man.”

“I appreciate your concern, but you needn’t fear for my well-being. I was going to pop down to my dear friend Hendrix’s café for a coffee and something to eat. He makes the best sandwiches.”

“Is that so? You should be careful on your journey,” her voice had a hint of concern, but Arthur didn’t pay heed to it too much. His mind was focused elsewhere.

“I promise you, once you have one, you’ll never go back.” Arthur took a step towards the café.

“Arthur!” Atlas called; her sudden voice made him jump. If he didn’t have his cane, he’d likely stumble over from such a sudden outburst.

Arthur spun around, ready to vent his growing frustrations.

“What?!” he snapped.

“The shopping centre is this way,” she replied calmly, pointing in the opposite direction to the one he was about to walk.

It took him a moment to process his surroundings. She was right. He was about to walk in the absolute wrong direction.

“I’m sorry,” he apologised. “This fog is awful. It’s so easy to get lost.”

Atlas spun around on one foot before skipping three steps towards Arthur. He hair flopped over her shoulders as she moved. “You know what, Arthur? I think I may go with you.”

Arthur knew he was in no position to refuse her, not after she corrected his earlier mistake.

“Suit yourself,” he replied, resigning himself as he took several steps into the fog. Although he had walked these streets many times, the changing landscape was somewhat unfamiliar. He could hear his breath quicken over the whirling wind. Ravens cawed from leafless, withering branches that crackled in the wind.

Panic.

Panic?

Why?

He had nothing to fear.

Still, he felt so alone. He turned his head, hoping to strike up a conversation with Atlas, but to his dismay, the girl had vanished. It was as if she were obscured somewhere beyond the blanket of frost. He felt his heart rate begin to increase.

He clutched his chest.

Was this a heart attack?

No!

A panic attack.

But why?

Arthur couldn’t understand why he felt so lost without a strange girl he had only just met.

“Atlas!” Arthur called out, unable to mask the fear he truly felt.

He was met with no response.

A tear rolled down his face as his hands began to shake uncontrollably. He spun around and found Atlas staring back at him.

“Are you alright, Arthur?” Atlas asked, pacing up to him.

Arthur could feel his breathing return to a stable rhythm. He collected himself, embarrassed that he had been seen looking so panicked at losing sight of a complete stranger.

“Yes, I’m fine, I just lost sight of you for a moment.”

“That’s alright, Arthur.” She gave a reassuring smile that calmed his unease. “I’m not going to leave you.”

For some reason, hearing her words eased his nerves. In his panic, Arthur had once again lost which way was which. Unlike at the bus stop, which could have served as a reference point, he had nothing where he was now.

As if reading his mind, Atlas pointed in a single direction.

“This is the way to the shopping centre, Arthur.”

“I know that,” he snapped, too stubborn to admit to this stranger that she had twice aided him in directions.

Arthur needed to stop several times to catch his breath. He was much slower than he used to be. Such was the burden of aging. He explained this to Atlas, hoping she wouldn’t be frustrated by his slow movement. But she never offered any complaint. Instead, she merely waited patiently with a silent smile.

When Arthur had managed to recover some of his energy, they continued their journey in the fog. Each step felt as if the frosty cloud was closing in around them. It required his full attention just to remain on the footpath.

The frost seeped through the layers of Arthur's coat and caused his joints to ache. Whilst Arthur was finding it increasingly uncomfortable, Atlas never once complained. If she could handle the cold, then so could Arthur. He sure as hell wasn’t going to complain in front of her.

Arthur made a sudden turn as if his instincts had taken control of his body. He felt his foot hitting grass, but he knew that this would be only momentary.

“Arthur, the shopping centre is this way,” Atlas pointed back to the footpath. Although he knew she was right, he saw that a vast gorge stretched ahead. So deep it was that you couldn’t see the bottom. Like a void of nothingness that consumed even light itself. Such a dangerous path was not worth taking.

Fear?

Of course not!

Well, Arthur wouldn’t admit it anyway. It was because he knew an alternative path. That was the justification he settled on.

“This way is a shortcut,” Arthur replied confidently, ignoring Atlas’ words.

He took several steps and felt his feet begin to buckle underneath him as if he were standing in quicksand. Arthur wasn’t as steady as he used to be, but this wasn’t just his own lack of balance. It was as if the landscape itself was shifting beneath him.

The shapes blurred and contorted. At first, Arthur didn’t notice. Not until he realised he was in the front yard of a house he had never seen before. His shoes were damp, covered in the mud from freshly seeded grass.

But how?

Atlas skipped over merrily, as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “Arthur… don’t worry about the shortcut. Let’s just go this way.”

She slipped her arm through his, gently guiding him back toward the street. What should have been the warmth of her hand was a faint, almost non-existent sensation.

He took one step to follow, but something felt as though it were pulling him back. The thumping of his heart told him he should trust his judgement and continue towards the shortcut. It was as if the building were a façade, a structure of deception.

Torn between options, he decided to listen to the girl with the neon-green hair.

“Your hands are colder than mine. You should wear gloves,” Arthur remarked, following Atlas, using her bright hair as a beacon in the blanket of fog.

She turned her head away so Arthur couldn’t make out her expression.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” she responded with a hint of anger.

Although Arthur was curious as to her sudden attitude change at his joke, he also knew better than to question. Instead, he opted to discuss his own life.

“You know I used to work in a paper mill and printing press.”

“Is that so?” This got her attention. “What did you print?”

Arthur paused.

What was it he used to print?

He tried to rack his brain, but each time, he came up blank. That was until he recalled just one. One book that he knew for a fact he printed, and how ironic it was.

“Truth be told, we used to print World Atlases for the school children.”

Atlas turned away. Although she tried to mask her expression, Arthur could see the slight curl of her lips.

“Is that so?”

She didn’t say anything else as they continued walking for several minutes until a large white concrete silhouette, barely visible through the fog, came into view. They had arrived at the shopping centre.

“We made it, Arthur!” Atlas exclaimed, smiling gently.

“You make it sound like we weren’t going to make it,” Arthur queried her.

“I have to admit, at times I didn’t think we would make it,” Atlas confessed.

Arthur opted to ignore her somewhat insulting remark out of courtesy for her assistance. As much as he hated to admit it, without her, he wasn’t sure he would have made it. He spotted a checkered crossing and took a step towards the centre.

A car zoomed past him, almost running him down, before vanishing into the endless fog.

“Careful, Arthur!” Atlas called, reaching around him to pull him back away from the road.

“Watch out, you damn driver,” Arthur called, waving his cane frivolously in the air as the taillights faded to nothingness. “Can’t you see that there is a pedestrian…”

He glanced down at the checkered footpath, noticing that it, like the car that almost mowed him down, had vanished.

How?

He knew for a fact that there was a pedestrian crossing here. He had walked it so many times before. It was the path he always took. So why was it not here now? Before he could ponder this further, his thoughts were interrupted.

“Are you alright?” Atlas asked, leaning over and twiddling her lollipop between her fingers.

Arthur nodded, acknowledging her comments but nothing more. He didn’t want to let her catch on to his growing unease.

“There is a crossing up ahead.” She reached her arms around Arthur's and gently nudged him in a direction. She firmly added, “Let’s cross at there, and nowhere else.”

Reluctantly, Arthur agreed. If he were younger, he’d just dart across the road. But at his age, he’d be mowed down before he ever reached the other side.

Atlas led him further through the car park until they reached another crossing. This time, the path did not falter; they successfully crossed to the other side, to the shopping centre.

Arthur thought reaching the centre would be the difficult part. But now that he was inside, he wandered aimlessly, as if it were an ever-changing labyrinth. Dead ends after dead ends. Paths looping over and over. Yet he simply couldn’t reach Hendrix’s café.

It was as if there was some kind of force preventing him from doing so. Almost as if it were a completely different space. Had he crossed over to a parallel dimension or leapt through time? A space that should have been familiar was as foreign as the wilderness.

“Are you alright, Arthur?” Atlas asked, skipping alongside him.

Arthur didn’t offer a reply; he was too busy trying to find any hint of Hendrix’s store.

Where was it?

Finally, he recognised a store, a barber that Arthur remembered was only a few stores away from Hendrix’s café. He slowly approached the barber, but as he got closer, the store blurred, and he saw that it was actually a jeweller. As if the image had transformed in front of his own eyes.

“What happened to the barber?” Arthur asked out loud.

“Arthur? What are you talking about?” Atlas asked; her expression was hard to read.

“The barber shop that was just here a moment ago.” Arthur pointed to the jeweller.

“Arthur… that was always a jeweller,” she replied with a cheeky smile.

He blinked several times. He didn’t know what to believe. He knew for a fact that he had seen it as a barber.

It was a barber.

He saw it with his own eyes.

So then why wasn’t it now?

Maybe Atlas was right.

“I apologise, my eyes must’ve been playing tricks on me.”

Atlas nodded, her smile never dropping. “That’s right, Arthur, your eyes were deceiving you.”

Something was nudging at Arthur. A curiosity that wasn’t sitting right.

Was it Atlas?

No.

It couldn’t be her.

Then what was it?

Arthur was about to voice his unease, but never got the chance.

“On that note, is this the café you were thinking of?” Atlas asked, pointing to a café that was just a few stores down from the jeweller.

“No…” Arthur trailed off, looking around the shopping centre. He didn’t recognise any of the stores. It was as if he had been transported to another world. None of this was real. It was as if everything was fabricated to deceive him.

But that couldn’t be… Right? Who would want to deceive him? What would be the point?

“I was certain that it was here,” Arthur tried to explain, hoping Atlas wasn’t getting frustrated by him at this point.

“You don’t have to worry, Arthur, perhaps we just went the wrong way,” Atlas suggested. Her warm smile eased his nerves.

“Impossible, I have been to this shopping centre hundreds of times before.” Still, he couldn't help but feel uneasy about the situation.

Perhaps sensing his growing unease, Atlas suggested. “How about we go in and get something to eat?”

Reluctantly, Arthur agreed and followed her inside the place where Hendrix’s coffee shop should’ve been.

The café appeared to be a franchise. Everything was bright and earthy. Exposed brown struts lined the ceiling. It looked to Arthur as if they had begun work on the place and never bothered to finish it.

The counter displayed assorted cakes and sandwiches, and a chalkboard-style sign hung behind it listing the coffee prices. The writing was scrambled, as if a child had written it. Arthur had no idea where to look. He missed when he could just take a seat at Hendrix’s, and they would bring out a laminated menu.

Why mess with something that was effective?

As Arthur mused this, they inched closer towards the front of the line until it was time to be served. The cashier looked as if she were barely out of school.

“Good afternoon, it is lovely to see you again, Arthur. Are you not with your daughter today?” the woman enquired, glancing down the line.

How did she know his name?

He’d never been here before.

Although he thought these questions, he couldn’t utter a response. The words caught in his throat.

“Will it be the usual today?”

Usual?

Arthur ordered, and the cashier simply nodded and placed his order. He reached into his coat pocket, expecting to find his wallet, but it was gone. He knew for certain he had packed it when he left home. Perhaps it fell out on the bus or on the walk in the fog. If he lost it in the fog, there would be absolutely no hope of ever retrieving it.

The only thing he found digging through his pockets was a scrap of paper with a phone number etched messily on it. A number that he failed to recognise.

“I’m so sorry, but I seem to have misplaced my wallet.”

“That’s alright, Arthur, we can sort it out later.”

“No, I’d feel awful,” he pleaded, reaching into his satchel and retrieving a small chequebook.

“What is that?” the cashier asked.

Arthur looked at her, confused.

“It’s a chequebook. Don’t tell me they don’t teach you how to write cheques in schools?”

“Sorry, Arthur, we don’t accept cheques,” the woman at the cashier said, her eyes darting away as if she were hiding something.

Arthur glanced down to see that the chequebook he was holding was now a notebook.

“H-how…?” Arthur stuttered, confused by what had just happened.

“Arthur, how about you take a seat, and we can look for your wallet together,” Atlas suggested.

Arthur glanced at Atlas and the growing line of customers.

“It’s alright, Arthur, take a seat. We will bring out a coffee and a sandwich for you.”

Arthur reluctantly followed the cashier and Atlas’s suggestions and took a seat. Placing his satchel against the wooden leg of the chair. Atlas slipped into the booth opposite him. She moved with a silent grace, careful so as not to make a sound as she sat.

Arthur looked away, worried he’d draw attention if he kept staring at the eccentric girl. He swiped a newspaper from the vacant table next to him and began reading, only getting a few words in each time before his eyes drifted back to the girl.

She slouched over the table, her hands on either side of her face, staring amusingly back at him.

“What do you find so amusing?” Arthur enquired.

Atlas twirled her finger around in the air several times before pointing it directly at him.

“You, Arthur.”

“Me?”

“You are a very interesting person,” she reiterated.

Arthur almost found it insulting to hear this from the mouth of a green-haired girl with plushies dangling off her. Somehow, he was the interesting one. He brushed her comments aside and began sifting through his satchel, discovering several items he couldn’t fathom ever packing.

“Here it is,” he mumbled to himself, retrieving his wallet.

Atlas, who had sat in silence this entire time, finally spoke up. “Arthur, how do you expect to pay with that?”

Arthur glanced at the object he was holding, a metal can of breath mints. Arthur could feel his heart rate begin to increase.

He was certain that he had packed it.

So then why wasn’t it there?

“Can you have a look for me?” Arthur asked, passing the satchel towards Atlas. She shook her head and held her arms in a cross-like stance.

“I wouldn’t feel comfortable going through your belongings. Besides,” she lifted her index finger as if raising a point. “You probably left it back at your place.”

“Impossible, how else could I have caught the…” Before he could finish his words, he realised something. He couldn’t recall how he had boarded the bus.

How did he?

Did he pay for it?

When did he even board the bus?

These questions continued to swirl in his brain. As if reading his mind, Atlas reached out and clasped her hands around his.

“You don’t have to think about anything, Arthur. Just relax and enjoy the world around you. Don’t worry about anything else.”

Her words were comforting. How grateful he was to have met her. She might dress quirky, but she was reliable. Unlike so many today. A few minutes later, the server wandered over, carrying a plated sandwich and a mug of warm coffee.

“I’m so sorry, I cannot find my wallet anywhere,” Arthur apologised, trying to explain the circumstances. He was horrified to be in such a situation. How could he misplace something so valuable?

“That’s not an issue, Arthur,” she replied with a faux smile that seemed forced to Arthur's eye. She set the items down on the table. The clatter of the plates seemed to drown out all other noise.

How could he live with himself if he didn’t pay?

He’d be no better than a no-good thief.

“I couldn’t take this without paying,” Arthur tried to protest. “I’m sure I have my wallet somewhere in here.”

He returned to shuffle through his satchel. The more he looked, the more confused he felt; it was as if the items he’d expect to have were replaced by mundane household objects.

“Don’t worry, Arthur.” The server paused as if she was contemplating her next words carefully. “Your meal has already been paid for.”

Arthur glanced at Atlas, who simply shook her head. Before Arthur could question her, the server turned and hurried away, leaving Arthur with the seemingly free meal. Arthur knew better than to turn down a free meal. He picked up the bread and took a large bite.

“Aren’t you going to have something?” he asked Atlas.

“I didn’t order anything, Arthur,” she replied, a smile curled up her face as she played with one of her panda plushies.

“I hate to be the only one enjoying this,” Arthur added, taking a bite of the bread. He hated to admit that the sandwich was good.

“I get enough joy just seeing you enjoy it,” she replied with a warm smile. Some customers moved away, perhaps nervous of Atlas and her strange appearance.

He sat for some time, drinking his coffee and eating his sandwich. Once he finished, he began to read the paper. All this time, Atlas remained silent, simply watching him as he went about his business.

“I thought I might find you here.”

The voice from behind Arthur made him jump. He turned, expecting to see his daughter, but instead was met with a woman he didn’t recognise. She did bear a striking resemblance to his daughter, albeit much older.

“Where have you been?” As if this question were the last straw, she began to weep uncontrollably.

Arthur couldn’t help but be taken aback by this strange outburst. Why did this stranger care? It was none of her business, and Arthur had half a mind to tell her so.

“That is none of your concern,” he replied firmly. He wasn’t about to be lectured by a stranger.

“You don’t realise how dangerous it is out here!” She shouted, “What if you were hit by a car?!”

Arthur thought back to the crossing earlier.

That was a freak accident.

Carelessness by the driver.

It wasn’t his fault.

Perhaps this woman was somehow involved in the incident.

Maybe she was the driver.

“I’m perfectly capable of navigating the town by myself,” Arthur snapped in response. Even if she were right, his stubbornness wouldn’t permit him to admit it. Besides, he managed to navigate the streets with the aid of Atlas.

“Now that I have found you, please come with me, Dad,” the woman requested, the tears still rolling down her face.

Dad? Was this woman out of her mind? Arthur knew he only had one daughter. Looking closer at the woman, she bore a striking resemblance to her, albeit much older.

“Who are you and why should I listen?” Arthur snapped at the woman.

She wore a pained expression, unable to meet Arthur’s eyes.

Arthur couldn’t help but notice the age in her face. He would have to recommend some moisturiser to help slow the effects of aging. A girl of her age shouldn’t look older than she is.

“What do you mean? I’m here to fill in time before picking up Amy.”

His daughter sighed, tension easing from her brow.

“Dad, Amy is an adult.”

Arthur was shocked. Why was everyone just accepting it as normal? Arthur had had enough of this charade.

“You expect me to believe that?” As much as Arthur complained, it seemed he was merely shouting into the abyss.

“Dad, please calm down,” the woman urged, waving her hands as if to de-escalate the situation. “I know you don’t remember any more, but that’s why you need to come home with us.”

“Why should I trust you?” He was growing increasingly agitated. Was this one of those scams he heard about? The reason he avoided using the internet.

“Dad,” the woman pleaded, using her hands to try to calm the increasingly frustrated Arthur. “Please calm down, you have dementia.”

Dementia? Impossible, he would know if he had dementia.

“How dare you gaslight me like that? Tell her, Atlas!” he turned his head to find the seat opposite him empty. The quirky girl with green hair was absent.

“Dad, who is Atlas?”

He blinked several times, trying to make sense of the situation. The quirky girl with green hair seemed to vanish into thin air. Arthur felt as if a part of him was torn away.

Where did she go?

“Atlas was the girl I was with,” he tried to explain, glancing around, trying to spot the hard-to-miss green hair. Alas, the more he looked around, the more he realised she was seemingly gone.

How had she done this?

Why?

Why would she just run off like that?

Arthur’s daughter bit her lip. She avoided eye contact with him as she uttered. “Dad, are you having delusions again? There was never anyone with you called Atlas.”

°°°°

The End