I
The shop was in a back alley of London, smelling of ozone and regret. The sign read: "Ideas Inc."
Clara walked in. The shelves were full of misty jars, not books.
"Can I help you?" the shopkeeper asked. He looked like he hadn't slept in a century.
"I have an idea for a novel," Clara said. "But I don't have time to write it."
"We buy," the keeper said. "Let's see it."
Clara closed her eyes. She imagined her story—a romance between a ghost and a radiator. A wisp of pink smoke drifted from her ear into a jar.
"Hmm," the keeper critiqued. "A bit avant-garde. I'll give you twenty pounds."
"Done."
Clara took the money. She felt lighter. The nagging voice in her head telling her to write was gone.
But as she left, she saw a jar on the top shelf. It glowed gold. The label read: "Hamlet II: The Ghost's Revenge. By W. Shakespeare."
"He sold that one?" Clara asked.
"He had writer's block," the keeper shrugged. "Traded it for a pint of ale. Shame. It would have been better than the first one."
Clara looked at her pink jar. "Actually... can I have mine back?"
"Refunds are double," the keeper grinned.
Clara paid forty pounds. She walked out with her idea buzzing in her head. It was annoying. It was heavy. But it was hers.