“That’ll be fifty dollars.” Says the British sounding girl. She can’t be much older than me—she’s very short and stout. I can’t see her face, since most of her’s covered with her dark purple cloak that’s barley visible in the dark. “Well, you’re buying in bulk, so I’ll say forty-five dollars.” She sticks out her hand, and I hand her the money. “Here,” she hands me my bottle of happiness.
I tuck it just inside my blue cloak, almost identical to the British girl’s purple one, and start walking home. Then I start thinking about the future. I could go to jail for this. This is illegal. Bottled emotions are like drugs, thought of as dirty, reality changing, and euphoria inducing. Unless you buy a sadness bottle, then it’s more like a sadphoria. But I’m buying a euphoria bottle. But it’s not for me. Why break the law if it’s not for me? But it’s for my dog of five years. Mack. He’s been depressed ever since Slinky died. Slinky, my cat. Best friends with each other. It was weird at first that a cat and a dog were friends, but it wasn’t weird to them. They used to jump around together, eat together, play together, do everything together. Now all Mack does is sleep and sleep and sleep. The vet he’s depressed, and so does mom. Doesn’t that just show you how interesting our minds are? And how emotional we are? By we, I don’t just mean humans. I mean all living beings. Dogs, cats, humans, and trees, probably. Did you know trees can communicate and defend against attacking insects?
I snap back to reality as I walk past the park that’s a block or two from my house. I see a person who’s homeless laying down on one of the benches in the park. I step towards him and fish a dollar out of my pocket. He seems to be sleeping. I set down the dollar just above his head, on the bench. As I do the man’s head brushes my cloak and the euphoria bottle inside the cloak makes a light tapping sound as it collides with one of the cloak’s buttons. The bottle falls out of my cloak, and onto the soft mud under my feet, but I have no worry. I pick the bottle back up and tuck it in my cloak again. This man is asleep and did not witness evidence of my illegal act. And even if he were awake, no one would believe an old meddling kook. He shifts on the bench and reaches into his breeches. He pulls out a gun.
“Put your hands on your head,” he points his gun at my head. “This is the police.” Says a homeless man.
My parents have always taught me to be a law abiding citizen, and I have a clean slate. Until earlier today. Should I stop, and give in? Was all of this for nothing? I could be beheaded for this.
I take off running.
“Hey! Come back here!” The police man/homeless man gets off the bench and starts chasing me. Why was he even there in the first place? Is he a police man, or not? I run past the gas station, then the market, and I circle around the buildings and head back to the park. I can hear foot steps behind me, so I step into the alley in between both buildings. The man passes by me and heads the way he came, looking confused. After he leaves, I run back to the park, and I decide cut through it instead of going around. I move through the trees with efficiency and my foot catches on a tree root. I stumble and the bottle falls out of my cloak. It bounces off the tree trunk and lands on one of its hard roots. The bottle breaks open and the shiny liquid spills all over the tree. All of it spills out. All of it. Was... all of this for nothing?
I look up at the sky. The tree branches and its leaves block the stars, but the leaves on the tree shine brighter than any star ever could.