Existing

The rain was coming down slowly. It wasn't enough to be a cause of concern, but it was plenty to ruin any outdoor activities. People could be seen rushing to their destinations, getting themselves even wetter than they would be if they had just walked. All the shops on the busy street were brightly lit and bustling with customers. All except for one little shop on the corner, the bell on it's door constantly silent. No one passing by even gave it a second glance. If they had, they probably still wouldn't have noticed the slender figure staring out the dusty window.

Inside, the figure stared at what little reflection the window showed. Straight, brown hair; sky-blue eyes, and a thin, feminine face. The person reflected in the window wiped at it with an old rag. No matter how much she washed it, the letters spelling “Adam's Bookstore” were barely legible to anyone passing by. She didn't turn around when an older man set down a box on a stack behind her. After straightening up and stretching his back, he walked over to the girl.

“Staring out the window again, I see,” he said in a cheerful, grandfatherly voice. Standing at nearly a head taller than the girl, he preferred to sit when he talked to her.

The first thing the girl always noticed about him were the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, showing he obviously smiled a lot. His salt and pepper hair made him look older than he really was, but his vibrant, blue eyes made up for it. He was a very handsome man but old enough to pass for her father.

The girl didn't turn around. She merely sighed again at stared at the rain with a wistful expression.

“We haven't had any customers in days,” she muttered finally.

The man laughed and patted her on the back.

“Sylvia, we're a bookstore,” he chuckled. “and an old one at that. Young people these days prefer their electronics to books.”

Sylvia crossed her arms and turned around, her face set in a scowl. “My friends and I like books, you know. We're not all video-game junkies,” she added, rolling her eyes. Then she took on a thoughtful look. “Can I ask you something, Mr. Adams?”

It was Mr. Adams' turn to roll his eyes. “Please, you make me feel old when you call me that.” Sylvia snickered, but he waved her off with a smile. “Yeah, yeah, I get it. 'But you are old, Mr. Adams.'” He shook his head and mumbled, “Kids these days.”

“Okay, fine, can I ask you a question, William?” Sylvia asked sarcastically.

Mr. Adams thought for a second. “I don't know...” he finally answered, a smile evident in his voice. “Depends on the question.”

“Well, I was just wondering why you keep this shop open if no one even knows it exists.”

“Ah, now see, that is the kind of question that requires some deep thinking,” Mr. Adams said, pacing back and forth.

Sylvia sighed. “It's just a simple question, I don't see how you have to think about it.”

She was answered with a grin. “You see, Sylvia, that's just it. Maybe this shop exists, but then again maybe it doesn't.”

“Uh...I don't follow...”

Mr. Adams stopped pacing and spread his arms wide, gesturing to the whole shop. “Maybe the only reason this shop exists is because he believe it exists. If either I or you, or both, cease to believe it exists, then would it actually cease to be? Or would it still be here?”

Sylvia looked at him blankly for a few moments. Then she said, “Are you on something, Mr Adams? I never took you for one of the hippie types.”

He simply laughed and patted her on the back once more. “You know what they say about the ramblings of old men.”

“No,” Sylvia said, crossing her arms, “I don't.” The old man blinked.

“Huh...you know...neither do I,” he laughed, making Sylvia roll her eyes. “Finish wiping off that window, and then you can go home for the day.” He walked off past a dusty book shelf, still laughing, and left Sylvia to finish her dusting.

“He is so strange sometimes,” Sylvia muttered to herself on her way home from the bookstore. It had taken her another two hours to finish dusting everything. Not that she was complaining. It was an easy job, and, if Mr. Adams wasn't paying attention, she would grab a book and take a break to read it. Besides, she would rather be inside at that moment. It had been warm that morning, so she had tossed on her favorite black skirt, her worn out sneakers, and matching black tank-top. Now, since it had been raining all day, it was a bit to cold for her liking.

“I wonder what he meant, though,” she said, thinking out loud. She twirled the light blue umbrella she was holding and bit her lip, a habit she developed for when she was deep in thought. “There's no way that something could cease to exist just because we choose to believe it doesn't,” she said to no one in particular. She stopped walking, though, still biting her lip. She loved anything to do with science fiction and couldn't help but give what Mr. Adams said a little bit of thought.

Sylvia stared up at her umbrella, listening to the rain hitting it and sliding off. Then she squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated. After a few moments, she could have sworn she couldn't feel the umbrella anymore, but she thought it was probably because she was gripping it so tight. Then her hand flew up to the top of her head, patting at it. When she brought it up to her face, it was wet.

“No way,” Sylvia breathed. She quickly opened her eyes and looked up, frowning as soon as she did. Her umbrella was still there. She laughed, shaking her head at how silly she was being.

Sylvia started to walk home again, keeping to the right side of the sidewalk so she didn't get splashed by the passing cars, or pushed into traffic by the impatient people rushing down the sidewalk. She attempted to avoid the muddy puddles that dotted the sidewalk, but it was slow progress. People passed her in annoyance, some even shoving her into the sides of the shops. Growing frustrated, she squeezed her eyes shut once more and deliberately walked through a puddle.

She gasped. Looking down, she saw that her green and purple sneakers were perfectly dry, save for a bit of mud on the very bottom. Sylvia moved over, hugging the wall to avoid getting trampled. To her amazement, she saw the huge puddle everyone was walking through, and the one she had just crossed. There was no way she could have avoided getting wet without going completely in the road, the puddle was too big for that.

Dropping her umbrella, she raced as fast as she could back to the bookstore. The bell clanged for only the second time that day when she burst through it, shouting for Mr. Adams.

“Mr. Adams! I need to talk to you!” Sylvia called, looking around the empty shop. Her shoes made a squelching sound as she walked down the isles, leaving a trail of muddy footprints behind them. She could have sworn the store owner had been there when she left, only ten minutes prior. She kicked a few boxes over in her frustration, coughing when a cloud of dust filled the air.

Stumbling backwards, she felt her back hit a door. Sylvia turned around to see the old oak door that led, supposedly, to Mr. Adams' apartment. She wasn't sure, though, since she had never been allowed through the door. 

She put her hand hesitantly on the tarnished doorknob, debating on if she should turn it.

“It's probably locked,” she told herself. Still, she didn't move her hand. She had always wondered what was really behind that door. Taking a deep breath, she braced herself. As soon as she made to turn the handle, a hand fell on her shoulder.

Sylvia jumped back and screamed, clutching at her chest. She turned around to see Mr. Adams staring at her, his hand still outstretched.

“What in God's name are you doing here, Sylvia? You nearly gave me a fright!” He laughed a bit breathlessly, running his hands over his face. “I heard the bell and went to check for a customer, but all I saw were these wet footprints leading back here. I thought maybe we had a burglar.”

“I-i'm sorry,” Sylvia managed to say between gasps. “I wanted to talk to you, so I came back. You scared me, though,” she said, giving him an apologetic look for what she almost did.

“Well, then, what was it you wanted to tell me?” Mr. Adams escorted Sylvia over to a couple of chairs, covered in dust like everything else in the shop. Once seated, she proceeded to tell him what had happened with her umbrella and the puddle.

“It was so strange! I knew there was no way I could have avoided it, so I concentrated without thinking, and I walked right through it!” She could barely get the words out fast enough. “When I turned around, expecting the puddle to be there, it was there, but everyone else walked through it and got wet. So I ran all the way back to tell you about it.”

Mr. Adams sat in silence the whole time she was telling her story, nodding here and there. When she had finished, he merely said, “Interesting...” He didn't sound at all surprised to Sylvia. In fact, he sounded as happy as he looked. He next comment surprised her almost as much as he had earlier.
“Well, my dear, I think its time I left this shop to you.”

Sylvia stared at him, her mouth open. It took her a moment to regain her voice and say, “What the heck are you talking about? I'm only 19, I can't take over a bookstore!” Mr Adams just pattered her back like he had that morning and stood up. He had a wistful look on his face when he next spoke.

“Sylvia, I am not as young as I look. I have been around for decades longer than this shop has, decades longer than even this town has.” When he turned to stare at her, she saw an old wisdom in his lively eyes she had never noticed before. “I've been waiting for someone who has the ability to do what you just did.”

“I don't understand,” Sylvia stammered. “You're not making any sense.”

The old man she'd known almost her whole life just smiled at her. “Child, I'm not like other people.” Almost absently, Mr. Adams picked up a book, then closed his eyes. After a few seconds, the book disappeared, right before Sylvia's eyes.

“How...how did you do that?” she breathed. She looked up, really seeing him for the first time.

He just smiled. “I told you. I'm not like other people. It wasn't just the ramblings of an old man when I was explaining about my shop to you earlier. Very few beings have the ability to make things disappear just by willing them to cease existing.” Pausing, he sighed, looking much more like the old man Sylvia always thought him to be, and ran a hand through his hair. “It gets tiring, though. Wishing something would just disappear over something petty, not really meaning for it to...”

Sylvia frowned. “Couldn't you just will it to exist again?”

“Ah, there is a problem with that,” he sighed. “Unless you know everything about whatever it is you want to make disappear—every single detail, no matter how insignificant—, willing it to exist again will not result in the same thing you made nonexistent. And people....” Mr. Adams shuddered. “People are one thing you never think that about, because when they're gone, their gone. It's as if they never existed. Whatever they did with their lives, their ties to family and friends, anything they affected in their lives—it all gets erased.”

“Wow,” the girl whispered. “I never knew something like that was possible.”

Mr. Adams nodded. “Indeed it is.”

Sylvia looked down at her hands. “So does this mean...I'm different? I'm not me anymore?”

“Of course not, dear,” Mr. Adams reassured her. “Quite the contrary, nothing about you has changed at all. You've always had this ability, Sylvia. I witnessed it when you were small, though I did grow slightly concerned when it stopped happening. You've merely regained an ability you were born with.” 

He looked away, looking slightly sad. “I, however, have changed. I have made my share of mistakes, and I'm too old a man to keep remembering to watch my thoughts.” Slowly, but deliberately, he got up and walked around to the very back of the shop. There was another oak door that Sylvia was never allowed to open, and it looked better taken care of than the one she had tried to open earlier.

The old man placed his hand on the handle, much like Sylvia had before. Turning to the side, not looking quite at her, he told her, “It is quite possible to believe yourself out of existence, Sylvia. And though it takes a heck of a lot more skill and practice than you have now, I wouldn't advise it. I've spent the past few decades away from society, making sure anyone I used to know was long gone before I decided to do this.”

“Do what? Mr. Adams, what on earth are you talking about?” Sylvia demanded, but to no avail. The bookstore owner merely gave her an apologetic smile and quickly slipped through the door. Too confused at first to do anything, she quickly grabbed for the door before it shut, but she was too late. She tugged on it as hard as she could. It wouldn't budge. She kicked and pounding on the door, knowing it wouldn't help, but needing some way to vent her frustration.

Then she stopped, placing her now red hands on the door. Sylvia shut her eyes and concentrated with all her might. Within a few seconds, she no longer felt the door beneath her hands and quickly ran through. When she opened her eyes, she was standing at the beginning of the forest that surrounded her town. She turned around to see the old shop, the door still intact.

“Looks like I can only make things cease existing for as long as I concentrate on them,” she muttered to herself. Feeling she'd already lost enough time, she followed the muddy path into the forest as quick as she possibly could

It was hard for Sylvia to see anything. The thick vegetation, coupled with the dense fog, made her progress slow. Still, she kept running. She wanted to stop Mr. Adams from doing...whatever it was he was planning on doing. She was soaked to the skin and shivering like mad, but she wasn't going to turn back yet.

It didn't take her very long to reach a clearing. Sylvia could barely make out the shape of Mr. Adams bent down in the mud by the lake shore. He looked as if he was writing something in the mud.

“Mr. Adams!” she called. As soon as she took a step forward, the fog grew even thicker, obscuring her vision all together. Suddenly, a strong wind blew through the forest, sending her sprawling in the mud. Almost as quickly as the fog had appeared, it vanished, leaving nothing but an empty lake shore
.
Sylvia struggled to her feet and stumbled over to where she had seen Mr. Adams' figure crouching in the mud. She looked around but found no sign of him. She sank to her knees, frustrated tears filling her eyes. Then she froze. There, scrawled in the mud in Mr. Adams' handwriting, were three words that sent her sobbing. Three words that would remind her forever of just how powerful a simple belief can be:

“I don't exist.”