Again? Erek thought to himself, taking out his phone. The school day was over, he had to get home.

The text was from his mother. He opened it with a sigh. He already knew what it said. This was the third time he had received it that day.

Are you coming? I need to know, sweetie

He wasn't sure he wanted to go to the show with his mother. There were more important things he could do. Like studying for next week's test, or taking Emily to that new restaurant down the street. What would he do with his mother anyway? Go to some street show?

On the other hand, it was his mother's birthday. Stacy was an artist. She loved every kind of art: paintings, poetry, novels; but her favorite kind was the stories that street performers tell. She loved the innovative storytelling and the wild improvisations.

Erek thought it would be boring. I'm too old for fairy tales.

Erek's family's situation was not particularly good. Erek's little sister had been killed in a car accident and his father, who was a writer, died from severe heart disease two years ago. Erek and his mother lived alone in their tiny apartment, still trying to recover from the suffering they went through.

Despite Erek's problems, he wanted to hurt his mother as little as possible. Stacy went through enough at work where she sold amazing works of art at rock-bottom prices so she could pay the rent. She tried to show him that their situation wasn't as bad as it seemed. She was always smiling, reassuring Erek that things would get better. She never got angry, never pressured him to come home on time, or to do his schoolwork; she gave him his space.

She was so cheerful, in fact, that Erek once wondered whether she had forgotten about the whole thing; but then he woke up in the middle of the night to hear her crying. He immediately felt guilty. How could he even think of something like that?

What to do? Go with mom and annoy my friends, or hang out with everyone and let mom down? He gave a rueful smile. You just answered your own question, Erek. He texted his mother back with a sigh, saying he'd go with her. It would probably be pretty boring, but he knew nothing cheered his mother up like spending quality time with him.

Erek arrived home. The surrounding buildings were just as grey and bleak as he remembered. He wondered what his friends would say if they knew why he ditched them. He wouldn't tell anyone. The last thing he needed was Aaron catching wind of it.

Aaron was the class delinquent. He and his band of followers would harass Erek constantly. Erek tried not to react to it, not giving them the satisfaction of knowing they had gotten to him. He hoped it would just blow over. The teacher would occasionally intervene, but Erek knew that it would all just repeat itself the next day.

Erek chose not to tell his mother about it. He didn't want to worry her or bother her for no reason.

I'll just give them the normal excuse. It always works, he thought to himself as he walked into the building. The outside of the building was nothing special, but the inside was a different story altogether.

Ordinary people would expect a building like this to be dirty and dusty with paint peeling from the walls, but instead the floor was clean, no dust to be found. Instead of unsightly, peeling paint, the walls were festooned with pictures created by the resident artist. Erek smiled slightly. She was so talented. She deserved better.

Erek's mother insisted that children should have a more pleasant space to live in. She said that if the building was slightly better maintained and even decorated a bit, everyone would be slightly better off. With some persuasion, along with some careful flattery, Stacy got the approval of all the residents. The building was in much better shape now.

I don't know why you bother, Mom. In the end no one thanks you. Erek thought sadly.

"Hey Erek. How was school?" asked Erek's mother as he walked through the door and found her putting the finishing onto a new painting.

The house itself was small and cramped. It seemed like all the furniture was forcefully crammed into the too-small space, as if the owner couldn't bear the thought of throwing any of them away. Some of the rooms seemed meshed together, like the builder didn't have enough space to fit in all the rooms. There was little distinction between the kitchen and the dining room. One of the two bedrooms doubled as a studio for Erek's mother.

"Fine. Nothing really happened," Erek lied. He told her this lie almost every day. Something always happened. Usually concerning Aaron.

"Glad to hear it," his mother said, smiling. "If you're hungry, there's some leftovers from yesterday."

"No, I'm fine," said Erek. He walked towards the room down the hall. He opened the door and threw his bag on the bed.

Erek's room was just as cramped as the rest of the house. His bedside table was almost right up against the door. There was barely any space between the table and the bed. It was difficult to pass between them. The closet was small and contained all the clothing that Erek owned. Given what they could afford, however, it wasn't much.

Erek did not complain about the size of the house and his room. He knew it could be much worse. He could be like those families with no home at all.

Erek's dream was to be a violinist, creativity was in his blood, but he knew it would never happen. Not with the current financial situation at home.

Erek knew he couldn't support his mother like that, so he decided that he would become a doctor. That way he could make an honest living and maybe one day his dream would come true. However, as the days passed, Erek believed that less and less, convincing himself that dreams only come true in legends and stories.

Becoming a doctor wasn't easy. He immediately sat down to do his homework. The schoolwork wasn't easy for Erek, but he did all he could to succeed.

After a while his mother came into the room and announced that they were leaving in half an hour so he should get organized. Erek took a quick shower and got dressed. Jeans and a T-shirt were the best he had.

"Oh, don't wear your good clothes, sweetie. I don't want you to ruin them," his mother said when he emerged.

"It's your birthday, mom. This is a happy occasion," Erek answered.

Erek's mother's eyes sparkled. It was clear that she appreciated his consideration. Stacey herself was wearing clothes that might look quite plain on another person, but on her they looked beautiful.

Erek was sure that his mother was the most beautiful woman, she didn't makeup to enhance her appearance. Despite this, she wore makeup around her eyes. She had been crying again, Erek realized. Probably because his father and sister couldn't participate in the joy of the day.

"Come on. We don't want to be late. You want to enjoy yourself as much as possible, don't you?" Erek's mother said.

"This outing is supposed to be for you, mom," said Erek as they exited the building. "Where we going, anyway? The theater or something?"

"I was actually thinking about something else," Erek's mother said smiling. "There's a festival for the arts being held in the downtown area. I thought we might go there."

"In the marketplace?" Erik asked, surprised.

"Yes, I'm sure you'll enjoy it there," his mother said. "Who knows, maybe it'll inspire you to pick up violin again." Erek didn't want to argue with her, so he said nothing.

They took the downtown bus. It was much better than taking the car. The traffic was horrible and the marketplace had an infamous lack of parking spaces.

After half an hour they arrived at their destination. Downtown wasn't a particularly well-kept place. Even Erek's street was in better shape.

Erek looked around the market at all the stalls. Usually, they were groaning under huge weights of fruits vegetables and spices. Today, however, most were closed because of the festival. The open space was crowded with dozens of musicians and other artists who came to showcase their talents, sell their work and get some publicity.

Several paper signs hung on nearby lampposts, indicating which section of the fair was dedicated to which kind of artist.

"Mom, don't tell me you came here to work?" Erek demanded. "It's your birthday. You deserve some rest."

"Don't worry, kiddo. I did not come to work," she answered. "I just came to enjoy the show with you."

"So, what do you want to see?"

They passed a group of talented violinists. Erek felt a little twinge in his heart.

"Oh, I do not know. There are so many interesting things here." Stacy's eyes were glowing. She was overjoyed with all the artists in the area.

"Mom?" She didn't seem to hear him. "Mom?" he said insistently.

"Oh, sorry, sorry," she said, shaking her head as if to clear it. "I feel like a good story. One that has never been told before." She set off in the direction the sign indicated, leaving Erek to scramble after her.

Erek hoped that, out of everything, his mother would not choose a fairy tale or something else like that. Life in legends always had a happy ending and it made him angry. Life wasn't like that.

"So what story would you like?" his mother asked him.

"You're letting me choose?" asked Erek.

"As long as you don't choose a boring one," she answered, smiling. "Look around and tell me what tickles your fancy."

On one hand, Erek was glad that he could choose, but on the other hand he was a little worried. He didn't know what to choose for himself. He took his time and looked around.

The area was packed with small stands. Large signs hanging over them proudly proclaimed what kind of story would be told there. Some were plays for younger audiences, like Little Red Riding Hood.

Erek rolled his eyes at the sight of some teenagers sitting at a stall where a girl not much older than they were told a soppy romantic story. Something about vampires and… glittering? The girl seemed very excited, so she wasn't very coherent.

There were all kinds of stories. Serious adult-themed stories, geeky stories about Star Trek, even a story told entirely in pantomime.

All of these stories were something Erek had heard in one form or another. He didn't see anything new and interesting. He was about to give up and ask his mother to choose something by herself when something attracted his attention.

One stand lacked any sort of sign. A man sat behind it, smiling at the passers-by. He seemed amused about something. His age was not clear. He could have been anywhere between twenty five and forty.

There was something about him that gave Erek a strange feeling. A shiver spread down his spine. He felt a strange desire to stay away from him. Some base instinct made him want to put as much distance between himself and the man.

Despite this, Erek was interested to hear his story.

"How about that one?" Erek asked, pointing at the strange man's stand.

"Are you sure?" his mother asked.

"Positive," he said.

"Welcome," the man said as Erek and his mother approached. He gestured to a couple of chairs before him. "Please, sit," he said with a warm smile.

Erek knew how to read people's faces from experience. His mother always smiled to set him at ease, but he could see through it. She wore a mask of smiles to hide her pain. This strange man, however, wore an odd, confusing smile. It was both happy and sad at the same time, with something else in there that Erek couldn't identify.

I hope this wasn't a mistake, Erek thought apprehensively.

"So, you've come to hear the story?" the man asked, rubbing his hands together. They had the rough, discolored patches of a burn victim.

"What story do you have to offer?" Erek's mother asked the man. The words had a ritual feel to them. It must be some sort of custom.

"A story like no other," the man replied.

"That's what they all say" Erek said without thinking.

"Erek!" His mother said sharply, turning to the man: "I'm sorry-"

"It's quite all right, I understand the child," the man interrupted her. He turned to Erek. "How about a little wager?"

"Wager?" Erek asked in surprise: "What kind of wager?"

"it's very simple," the man said, smiling. "If you are bored by the end of the story, you will receive something that is more precious to me than gold, but if I win…" he paused dramatically, "you owe me a sandwich."

Erek blinked at the strange request. "A sandwich?"

"Yes," the man said, nodding gravely, as if he had asked for a king's ransom. "But I do ask that you be honest with me about your reaction."

"And you're not afraid to lose that precious thing of yours?"

"No," the man said, turning to Erek's mother "Is that all right with you?"

"I suppose so," she replied.

He's going to lose, big time, thought Erek and smiled. Even if I lose, it's only a sandwich.

"So, what do you say?" asked the man, raising his hand. "Deal?"

"Deal," said Erek. He shook the man's extended hand.

The man pulled out a harmonica from a hidden pocket in his sleeve and played for a few minutes. The simple melody soaring, the intricate harmonies drifting. It was a varied song, full of triumphant crescendos and joyous trills, solemn marches and heartbreaking vibratos. Its bittersweet tone brought tears to Stacy's eyes. Erek's weren't particularly dry either.

The music stopped suddenly, its haunting echoes lingering, coloring the man's next words.

"Let me tell you a story…"