Coffee Stained Pages. Part 1. Lilla Somn

have the feeling we’re missing something important.

      Food. We need food!

      The most important and enjoyable part of any event. This little journey is no exception.

      Rarely would any Kantinian disagree with it, and in at least one thing Ami agreed with her compatriots. An absolutely sincere love of food.

      So it was absolutely necessary to think about what hearty dried food she could steal from the family pantry. And put it in her omillian food bags.

      Food bags are critical. She hasn’t learnt to wrap food and even drinks in big leaves like the graceful Selvas do.

      But it is fiiine. That is not the only thing she will never be able to compare with the Selvas.

      Ami took from the drawer the beautiful embroidered bags she had brought from the last Omill trip. It seemed they still had the smell of small flatbreads and takeaway pies. But no. They could only contain the spirit of Omill’s coffeehouses.

      Hmm… It’s such a heartwarming memory… Especially in these dull Lands.

      What else? Water bags. Of course.

      Coffee-coffee-coffee… And our favourite shell cup, made from the shell of a local nut.

      Did we leave our cup at work? Oh no… Let’s not forget it tomorrow. We need to make a mark on our hand…

      No, we don’t! Luckily it’s here. On a table, behind the usual clutter. Waiting for something. And it looks like it’s getting ready too. Brilliant.

      Come on, beauty. We’re going for a walk. Far away from here. Once again. I’m not leaving without you, you know that. Soon we will both be filled with exotic, delicious drinks.

      Quick dopamine is a nice compensation for the bitterness of another fruitless movement to crawl out of this hole. Good, good…

      What else?

      Our typical travel checklist is somewhere at the bottom of this mess. Somewhere here, in the chaos of our life. Too tired to look for it, as always. So organised. Internal chaos often turns into external mess, there is nothing you can do about it.

      There’s a writing tissue, stick and and some juice sticking out of the habitual tabletop clusterflip… Hm. Great. A cheerful company of writing instruments and materials is always welcome. Especially when your own memory isn’t too keen on keeping you company.

      Amelia quickly walked back to the table and sharply pulled several pieces out of a pile of cut-up writing cloth. And of course what was on the top is immediately scattered on the floor.

      Shhh… No noise, no noise…

      Ami angrily picked up the out-of-control paper cutter and shook her finger at it. But it wasn’t the only troublemaker. The scraps of writing cloth, already covered with drawings, also ended up on the floor. Pieces of a unique map of the Continent made by mother. Her own work, torn and trampled by her own hands…

      How symbolic.

      Ami winced as if from a sudden spasm. The eternal victim of her own curiosity, she didn’t even want to recall the very episode, and quickly suppressed the feelings of guilt and anger and shoved them into a travel bag along with the pieces of the map.

      …Maybe we can do something about that in the end, you know. If Ivette’s too weak to finish her own job.

      For the Lands of Normality lie beyond and above the fertility-specialised Kantine. And there, with the proper sources of varied information, we could surely find the knowledge and materials to restore this undervalued treasure. And to reunite these disparate pieces of the former mother’s personality.

      Or even, joking aside, we’ll be able to add something to it. Not in a negative way.

      Perhaps Ami the Misfortune could still fulfil her mother’s wishes and live up to her hopes. But not by becoming a decent plant breeder, but by becoming a decent researcher. Of course, she is a far cry from her mother, but considering how tightly the “advanced” Yvette is mired in her problems, she has long since ceased to be a worthy rival. And even the desire to compare herself to her has completely disappeared.

      Given that Amelia is going to be an employee of the Omill Department of Truth, there must be a way to gain access to the Omill Temple Archives. Perhaps there’s some sort of simplified access procedure.

      It should not be as difficult to access as, say, Central Prime Archives. In theory.

      If she stays in Omill and is not sent back, of course. If it is sent to Omill at all.

      “So many ‘ifs’. Here we are again, feeding our depression and feelings of rejection. Enough of that. It’s not relevant. What’s next?”

      Sleep. Sleep is next. Everything is packed except the food.

      Ami doesn’t have many things. She doesn’t need much. Only the most comfortable. A big travel bag is ready and other things wait for her return.

      And she always returns.

      Ami clicked her tongue in annoyance, remembering the old “resentment” towards the beautiful and inaccessible cities that did not accept her the first, nor the second, nor the third time.

      It is fiiine.

      She has to get used to rejection and ghosting, they have been her best and most trusted friends for as long as she can remember. It’s time to accept them and stop ignoring their unseen daily presence.

      …Mimicking, sarcastic remarks… silent ignoring or smirking… She’s had enough of that in her whole dung life. At home, among siblings and others, at work… Big gulps of it, in full abundance, everything you want from this set, Ami, everything is for you…

      The Kantinian growled softly from the anger that had surged up and plopped down on the couch with a pile of unpacked things in her hands.

      …Wouldn’t it be better to crawl somewhere and never come out again, never come in contact with anyone or anything?..

      Yes. If only everything was that simple. Anyway, everything is pointless. Everything…

      “We’re being unproductive again.”

      Definitely… It’s better not to think about it now.

      It’s no more but a story. The ridiculous story of one stupid life.

      “Surely there are many much more interesting thoughts in that head.”

      Right. Some can be rejected, even if they are not just plain weirdos like us, but outstanding people, which the VST agents definitely are. Or, maybe even, they were rejected because of being eminent. Remember that strange case when our Department compromised its principles by asking the VST to send no less than one of their witch agents. It was a big deal of great importance.

      But of course something went wrong and the investigation was inconclusive. Which says nothing about the professional qualities of the agent himself or the level of competence of the VST as an organisation.

      One can only imagine the level of “assistance” the locals provide to the “metropolitan upstarts”. This makes any complex investigation doubly difficult. If not triple…

      …Contempt, devaluation, small-minded pride and arrogance.

      An inexplicable fear of the incomprehensible and unexplored. Energy saving mode for limited minds. Why learn when you can project…

      To be more educated, more curious, to have superior knowledge was only a reason for additional ridicule. That’s what happened to the agent.

      Rejected for another reason, Ami deeply sympathised with a stranger.

      It’s a pity that his investigation didn’t take place during her service – she came later.

      Once, under silly circumstances, her curiosity had led her to some interesting