tales for dreamers: the unexpected demands of a shopping list

The shopping list seemed innocuous at first. 

There were gift cards to be bought. And bags of a specific size, although an alternative size was thoughtfully provided. 

A pair of loafers and a jacket were to be returned but the items in question were nowhere to be seen, so nothing could be done about those.

But once the cards and the bags were bought and placed beside it, the list began to spout new demands. 

First it sought a reunion with its owner who had so carelessly discarded it by the roadside. Perhaps that was an accident, nothing intentional, nothing personal, we tried to explain, and it was mollified somewhat.

Still, the list insisted, the items had to be delivered to its owner. 

We promised we’d do our best to seek them out and deliver their goods.

Then the list asked if it could come along with us. It didn’t care to be stamped upon by careless passersby, nor did it want to be tucked into the rubbish bin.

But we had no need for it, we said without thinking, then immediately regretted it. Even though it didn’t have a face to reveal its emotions, the list folded in on itself in despair.

I was useful once, you know, it said. Just … not anymore.

We knew what that felt like, so we said to the list we could take it with us but it’d have to spend the rest of its days in the attic, alongside other articles of mostly sentimental and historical value.

The list gladly agreed. It only asked to be tucked carefully inside a book, preferably one of fantasy fiction, a really good one, so it could lose itself in a story and never have to resurface into the real world.

Of course we knew what that felt like. We were only happy to acquiesce. 

Last week's image info: A shop near my parents' place in Guduvancherry in southern India had all these lovely bangles on display in the window. It's such a common sight there, but felt like a rarity to my eyes, that explosion of colours, which inspired 'the bangle-seller's song'.