The Strange Market

The last thing thirteen-year-old Patrick could remember was looking out of his bedroom window. It had been an idyllic midsummer night lit by an effulgent moon. The window was open and the drapes pulled back; he had fallen asleep watching them ripple back and forth in the gentle breeze. 

He awoke suddenly in some sort of chamber. His mind was still in a sedated sort of lethargy so he couldn’t discern much else other than it was lit. He quickly drifted back into sleep. Next, he found himself in some sort of seafaring vessel, unlike anything he had ever seen before. Much to his mind’s bewilderment, it was, or at least looked to be, made completely of glass or at least something see-through. He was in a small compartment of the vessel. And from where he was he couldn’t see anyone else or hear anything for that matter. The ship was moving slow enough, however, that he could clearly see schools of fish swimming to either side. Mysterious looking creatures to say the least, they were the size and shape of dinner plates and had large, orange-colored eyes with red fins. The vessel was traveling just below the surface of the water as he could see the sky clear above. I should be fearful, he thought, but oddly enough his mind remained clear and calm. For as brave as he felt considering the circumstances he resisted the temptation to look down. He did, after all, not know how to swim. After about a half-hour or so, he heard a thud and the whole thing shook with a jolt. 

He looked up and there was a thin and gray human-like face staring down at him. The roof of the vessel had evidently opened up as he could feel a breeze upon his face. The mystery figure released a ladder down into his compartment, he climbed up. 

Once on the dock, a solid slab of rock or concrete, he found his voice and managed to get out “Thank you” to the stranger. The figure, who was bald, just about five feet tall and dressed in a bright scarlet-colored robe, gazed at him expressionless before gesticulating with his hands in a sort of sign language. “Um, I haven’t the slightest idea what you are telling me.” The humanoid looked at him and grinned before pointing to a vast, gray structure just up the road. It was a giant amphitheater of sorts and reminded him of pictures he had seen of the ancient Roman Colosseum. It was a bustling city center, hundreds of people going this way and that all dressed in long, flowing robes in various shades of red, orange, turquoise, and gray. Patrick turned back to the stranger but he was gone. So he crossed what looked like a giant causeway and entered the amphitheater. 

It was a maelstrom of activity, bells and whistles, screeching and thumping all sorts of noises. The amphitheater as it turned out was a marketplace. There were hundreds of little kiosks, each one selling something different. Patrick passed a shop selling robes, another selling teal colored bottles of some sort of mystery elixir. 

He finally turned to stop at a shop that had two massive braziers lit by a magnificent green flame. He stepped inside and found at least one source of the screeching he had heard. Rows of wicker cages that held what looked like ravens. Only they were much bigger, more than twice the size of the ones back at home. And their feathers were purple with scarlet beaks. They were, louder too, or at least it seemed that way since they were so many of them bunched together side by side. The cacophony of guttural utterances was enough to induce a migraine, regardless he couldn’t stop staring at the birds. They were a marvel. The shopkeeper, however, didn’t look too pleased after a few minutes passed. Another patron entered the shop, he looked at Patrick giving him a rather curious sideways glance before addressing the shopkeeper with some hand signals. That seemed to be how they communicated with hand signals accompanied by intermittent snorts and shrieks. The shopkeeper fetched a cage that held a bird who had a pair of conspicuous silver bells on his ankle. The customer nodded his head and rolled up the sleeve of his green robe and took out a string of what looked like blue-colored paper clips. He left them on the counter, took the cage, and left. Patrick gave the disgruntled shop owner another glance before deciding he had worn out his welcome. It was here that he realized that he was still dressed in a blue shirt and flannel pajamas. What a fool I must look like, he thought. 

He continued on his way through the open amphitheater, looking up he gazed at the sky. It was a brilliant cobalt color with light streaks of pink-colored clouds. And three magnificent suns, the most prominent of which was scarlet in color a glowing red disc in the sky. The other two were smaller and of a pale yellow hue. 

He found his way past another shop selling what looked like spear tips, another selling knives, and another selling giant green and blue-colored bells. He entered another shop. The keeper’s face was painted with yellow eye shadow. And they sold what looked like bowler hats. Only they were in every color imaginable and made of what felt like some sort of metal. I haven’t seen a single person wearing these, he thought. Clearly, this was a shop for idiot tourists. I'll oblige, he thought. He reached into his pocket and realized he had a few paper clips with him. He reached up and grabbed a yellow metallic bowler hat. He emptied his pocket of eight paper clips and put them on the counter. The owner gave him a strange look. “Yeah, I know I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion,” Patrick said. The shopkeeper took the paper clips and nodded at him. “What, no change?” He left, put the hat on, and continued on his way. 

He found a shop selling rank-smelling fish, another selling what looked like purple-colored glass bulbs, and another selling blue tomatoes. Blue tomatoes were evidently very popular, as there was a long line extending out of the shop. Maybe they were out of season? He decided to sit online and find out what all of the fuss was about. After waiting in line for about fifteen minutes, he got bored and left. 

He had since taken the ridiculous hat off considering it probably best to remain somewhat less conspicuous. A hawker was standing outside his station clanging an orange bell and squawking rather aggressively. Patrick entered and found a shop full of purple-colored traffic cones. Darn, I knew I shouldn’t off spent all of my paper clips on the hat. 

He continued his journey through this market of oddities, he found a shop full of baubles among them were some chess pieces. A small universe indeed. 

As he continued his foray he spotted something strangely familiar in the corner of his eye. It was something unmistakable. At long last a familiar face among this sea of strange things. But could it be? Yes, it was! It was an orange tabby with a white mark on its chest in the shape of an “M”. Patrick’s beloved pet cat Chester. But how could it be? No matter he chased after it. Down the steps of the amphitheater, he slipped, fell, and toppled a display of purple-colored, miniature pumpkins. The owner shrieked and shook his fist at him. He ran faster now. Up ahead he saw the cat had slipped around the corner into a dark alleyway. Patrick followed into the dark corridor. He couldn’t see two feet in front of him. He turned around to return to the light from whence he came. Darkness there too. He felt something or someone grab his arm. And then nothing. 

He awoke. It was just before dawn. He was in his bed staring at the ceiling fan. Just a dream. He got up went to the door opened it and on the floor a yellow bowler hat.