Men and women both wake up with the sound of bells everyday, from Cordate to Lyrate street, they rise up from their beds with a smile in their faces, the palms of their hands touching each other.
They don’t have nightmares or dreams nor they wake up irritated, they understand, that their lives are already the most blessed, and so they pray in silence to their saviour.
For it is thanks to her, that they live in paradise.
Not hidden in plain sight with the walking pedestrians, there is a man that stands up amongst those that wear casual clothes, yet it is neither a stranger nor a gentleman, just another resident of paradise.
The man wears a top hat and a necklace, its golden chain adorning the rest of his attire, he wears a pocket watch with a silver chain, gold and silver decorate his, otherwise, all black pants, shoes and jacket.
He hums a song while he walks Falcate street, turns right to Lorate street and buys his breakfast in the bakery “Buttery pleasure”, just a little reward for all the work he has done last week.
He turns left and arrives at Trullate street, where a wonderful aroma soaks the air of the streets, attracting children and adults altogether to the interactive show of a storyteller of renown.
He turns left again and the man finds himself in Sagittate street, also known as the street of wonders, art, inventions, pure creativity, nothing is rejected in Sagittate street.
Turning right lets the man admire the view of Spellate street, academies, schools, universities, for an adult, this street is pure nostalgia, remembering the days when they had so many questions and nothing made sense.
The man sighs, and finally turns right to the location where he spent most of his time, a street filled with joy, laughter and entertainment, the heart of thireien, this paradise in the shape of a city, Petiole street.
He smiles when he catches the smell of the restaurants that are beginning to open their doors, his steps become lighter when he hears the sound of children running through the street with joy in their voices.
Everyone sends the man a smile, for he, as many others, is known in the entire street, the man tips his hat while he laughs beneath it, Petiole street is his home, and dare he say it, his fate too.
For this man is-
“Cheshire!”
A large man appears and startles Cheshire from behind, but only for a moment, as he quickly recognizes the owner of the voice.
“Cyprus, friend, an advise”
“Mmh?”
“When you approach people with a giant axe on your back and muscles larger than their faces, you will scare them, just a bit, a tiny bit only.”
The man known as Cyprus, with a friendly smile that others would consider threatening, started, much to Cheshire’s complain, to pat his friend’s back while laughing.
“Don’t be foolish, friend! I am but a perfect gentleman.”
“Sure”
“No one would feel threatened by my presence!”
“Obviously.”
“Now let’s drink!”
“As all gentleman say.”
This ordinary conversation, so ordinary that could almost be called routine was part of Cheshire’s everyday, a friendly back and forth that had become quite known in Petiole, nay, in thireien.
“I’m just saying that if you change your clothes for something more refined, less people would find you so dangerous.”
“Don’t know who you are to teach me lessons, you narcissistic bartender.”
Cheshire didn’t retort.
He just laughed.
‘Laugh, Cheshire, laugh.’
“Can’t defend that.”
“Don’t get me wrong, the name is cool, but it paints a certain impression on you.”
Selfish, arrogant, narcissistic, naming something after yourself was the mark of an egomaniac.
After all, this was everyone’s paradise, not Cheshire’s.
If his pub had been named something like, “the saviour’s gift” or “the holy grail of thireien”, no one would bat an eye.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Yet the bar in front of them was named “deshires”.
“Well, we can discuss my incredible and magnificent behaviour, or we can enter my equally marvellous pub and enjoy a couple of drinks.”
“Mmh…”
“Are you really thinking about it?”
“We can do both.”
With a tired sigh, Cheshire pushed Cyprus through the wooden doors of his pub, the dammed giant didn’t move for himself, he seemed like a kid trying to resolve a problem in an exam he hadn’t studied for.
Cheshire went and took out his “tools”, notably, some pieces of fruit to make tricks with them to distract and entertain the customers.
Being a bartender was half working as a chef and the other as a magician, he juggled, he made cards disappear, he even hid coins in places you wouldn’t want coins to be.
He was also, albeit not as talented as a certain puppeteer, a storyteller, although he though that the nickname of forgeter suited him better.
People came to deshires to forget about their day, to not ponder about the tomorrow and leave past the yesterday, lest the thoughts of their traitorous mind torture these innocent victims.
Alcohol was certainly a cure for that, but so it was a good story, didn’t matter how true they were, for they were just one more tool of the arsenal of the bartender.
“Do you know the tale of John the blind magician?”
“Do you know the mystery of Larset street?”
“Do you know about the ancient city of Marse?”
Perhaps they were true, perhaps they were false.
The customers didn’t ask because they didn’t care, Cheshire saw it everyday in their eyes, in their soul, how tired they were, so he distracted them.
It’s not that they were sad to be living in paradise, no one would be sad, because being sad would be stupid.
They were just, a bit tired, they needed to have something to break their monotony and routine, even eternal happiness was tiring after a while.
Thus the names of “forgeter” Cheshire, “devil” Maine and “wall of iron” Cyprus became a bit famous in Thireien, deshires was the only pub in the city after all, and the bartender Cheshire, the waitress Maine and the lumberjack/bodyguard Cyprus was the trifecta that set it up.
The bar was open from second to fifth, four out of the six timeslots, they worked through four, except for Cyprus, who had to leave for the fourth and fifth to earn his quota as a lumberjack.
And some rude customers tried to step a bit over the line, the events of that night was one of the favourite stories that Cheshire told.
“You see, they misbehaved, a bit, just a tiny little bit.”
“They saw that my bodyguard wasn’t here bodyguarding and decided to be impolite, just a bit, just a tiny little bit.”
And what happened, they always asked.
“They woke up, in the morning, with chunks of wood in certain parts of their body.”
“A pity, Cyprus had made us that chair not long ago.”
Cheshire signalled a chair which, for some reason, didn’t have any legs.
The customers always looked at Cheshire with their faces paled.
“Don’t look at me, dear customers, I am a true born pacifist.”
The next words, for some reason, always were the same.
“B-but then…”
And they always stopped, for they noticed a smiling girl observing them from afar.
No one said anything for minutes, until Cheshire, with a mischievous smile laughed.
“My employees are so trustworthy.”
For a weird reason, the customers didn’t seem tired after hearing this story, they seemed even energetic, like they could run for half a timeslot, Cheshire was always proud to return their customers some energy.
Though his waitress always returned and punched the, made of wood, counter which Cheshire was behind.
“Stop. Telling. That. Story!”
“…?”
“Don’t you dare act as if you can’t understand me, Cheshire!”
“But it’s a good tale! An excellent one! It has it all, drama, delinquents, plot twist, a chair!”
Maine, whose face appeared to be in the verge of exploding, looked at the sky and started to mumble.
“Our saviour, creator of this paradise, please forgive us for our sins that we commit for we don’t know and aren’t enough to wear the weight of your legacy, please forgive your sons and daughters for they-”
“Why are you praying? We are not in a church.”
“Shut up! Just, shut up, please, for the mercy of the saviour, for once in your life, don’t open your mouth.”
“But I wouldn’t be a good “forgeter” if I did that, wouldn’t I, “devil”?”
“Don’t say that name! Ever.”
“Your fault, not mine, because of you we have to ask Cyprus for another chair, not exactly one of my favourite hobbies.”
“I shouldn’t have accepted this job.”
“You shouldn’t have drunk tequila before taking care of those punks.”
“What doesn’t stop me from literally walking past these doors, right here, right now?”
“The pay/time ratio.”
“…”
“…”
“How the hell can you afford it?”
“Drunk people leave good tips.”
This type of conversation was also part of Cheshire’s everyday.
After bidding farewell to Maine and the rest of his customers, he traversed Petiole street with his belly full, he had already had dinner in his pub, and began the way to his house.
Petiole, Spellate, Sagittate, Trullate, Lorate and Falcate street.
The same path he took in the first timeslot, is the one he took in the sixth.
He, as in the morning, hums a song when he arrives to Falcate street, where he lived.
Falcate street is a residential street, not bakeries, not pubs, nothing except apartments with people living there.
He opened the doors of his apartment, his was one in the third floor of a building with more than ten, with three separate rooms per floor.
The third room of the floor was Cheshire’s, he opened the door and went to rest, on his bed.
There, in the darkness, he thought.
Laugh.
Laugh, Cheshire, laugh.
Laugh, Cheshire, laugh.
Laugh!
LAUGH!
Cheshire started laughing, he was laughing really loud, what a comical past Cheshire had, to provoke so much laughter.
Laughing, Cheshire drifted to the land of the dreams, those that were non-existent in paradise.
Laughing, Cheshire cried until falling asleep, tears of joy he was sure, for he was in paradise.
Laughing, Cheshire forgot again, why he was laughing in the first place.
