A Confectioner's Almanac of Forgotten Time
Corey and Junior revisit a candy shop frozen in a forgotten spring, where the air hums with sugared nostalgia and the peculiar proprietor guards secrets sweeter than rock candy.
EXT. CANDY SHOP - DAY
The spring sun hits an old candy shop. The building’s FADED GREEN PAINT seems to glow with a soft, otherworldly light. The street around it is muted, cool, slightly desaturated.
COREY (15), introspective and quiet, stands on the pavement, mesmerized. He runs a finger along the peeling paint of the window frame.
His friend, JUNIOR (15), restless and impatient, stands at the door, hand on the tarnished brass handle. A crumpled chocolate bar wrapper is in his other hand.
JUNIOR
> You coming or what, Corey?
Corey is pulled from his reverie. He nods, walking towards the door.
INT. CANDY SHOP - DAY
The door opens.
SOUND: A single, surprisingly clear CHIME from an ancient bell. The sound hangs in the air, then dissipates.
The atmosphere inside is a stark contrast to the outside. The air is thick, dense with the smell of sugar and old paper. Shafts of golden light cut through the gloom, illuminating dancing DUST MOTES.
The shop is a narrow rectangle, crammed floor to ceiling with glass jars and wooden barrels. The walls are the same peculiar shade of faded green. It’s not retro; it’s genuinely old.
Corey breathes it in, a look of quiet wonder on his face. Junior is already scanning the shelves, looking for something familiar.
Behind a long wooden counter stands AGNES (80s). Her hair is a wispy cloud of white, her spine curved like a question mark. She meticulously arranges liquorice allsorts, her thin, gnarled fingers moving with a slow, deliberate grace. Her eyes, a startling, sharp blue, are focused on her task.
JUNIOR
> Afternoon, Agnes.
Agnes looks up. A slow smile spreads across her face, crinkling the corners of her eyes.
AGNES
> Corey. Junior. Back again. Spring has certainly sprung, hasn’t it? Everything feels… softer.
Her voice is like rustling paper.
COREY
> Yes, Agnes. It feels like it was only last week we were here, but also… a very long time ago.
Agnes lets out a dry, papery chuckle.
AGNES
> Time, my dear, is like molasses in this place. Thick and sweet, and not always moving in a straight line.
Junior, oblivious, rattles a handful of fizzy cola bottles into a small paper bag.
JUNIOR
> You got any of those new sour worms, Agnes? The ones that glow?
Agnes’s eyes refocus on Junior.
AGNES
> Glow? No, dear. My worms are quite content not to glow. They prefer their natural, sugary luminescence.
She gestures vaguely towards a barrel of gummy worms.
AGNES
>>(CONTINUED)
> Besides, glowing candy… that feels a bit too much like the future, doesn’t it? We keep things here as they should be.
She turns to weigh Junior’s sweets on an old brass scale. As she does, her hand moves to a small shelf tucked just beneath the counter’s lip.
CLOSE ON AGNES’S HAND
For a fleeting second, her fingers brush against something small, metallic, hidden from Junior’s view. A glint of silver. A SMALL, DARK FLASK.
Her movement is a magician’s flick of the wrist. A quick, almost imperceptible tilt of her head. A silent sip. The flask vanishes back into the shadows of the counter.
She turns back, a faint sheen in her bright blue eyes. Her smile is a fraction wider.
AGNES
> That’ll be three pounds and seven pence, dear.
As Junior fumbles for coins, Corey picks up a cellophane bag of pale yellow and pink PEAR DROPS. He studies them, feeling their weight.
COREY
> What’s your favourite, Agnes?
Agnes pauses, her gaze distant, focused on something beyond the walls of the shop.
AGNES
> Favourite? I suppose it changes, with the spring. This year, I find myself rather fond of… the quiet ones. The ones that don’t shout.
JUNIOR
>>(stuffing a cola bottle in his mouth)
> Like what?
A small, secretive smile plays on Agnes’s lips.
AGNES
> Come round here, both of you. I have something… not on the usual menu.
Junior gives Corey a skeptical look but shuffles around the counter.
Agnes reaches beneath the counter again. Not for the flask. She brings out a small, ORNATE WOODEN BOX, its surface polished smooth by countless years of handling.
She opens it with a delicate CLICK.
Inside, nestled on a bed of faded velvet, are three pieces of candy. They are roughly spherical, a dull, earthy brown. Unassuming. Silent.
AGNES
>>(whispering)
> These are for when the world gets too loud. For when you need to remember the quiet hum of things. Their flavour is a memory, a suggestion, not a definition.
She offers one to Corey. He takes it. Her fingers are warm.
She offers the second to Junior.
JUNIOR
> They look like old pebbles, Agnes.
AGNES
> They do, don’t they? But sometimes, the most unassuming things hold the greatest stories.
She takes the third for herself, holding it between her thumb and forefinger.
AGNES
>>(CONT'D)
> Go on. Try it. Let it unfold.
Corey places the strange candy in his mouth. He closes his eyes.
There is no immediate burst of flavour. It dissolves slowly.
Corey’s expression shifts. It’s not a taste. It’s a feeling. A sense of quiet contentment washes over him.
Junior reluctantly pops his own candy in his mouth. He chews impatiently, then stops. His eyes, usually darting and restless, go wide. They fix on some unseen point beyond the shop window.
-- MEMORY SEQUENCE --
The image becomes SLIGHTLY OVEREXPOSED, dreamlike, with a SOFT FOCUS.
EXT. FIELD - DAY (MEMORY)
SLOW MOTION. A sun-dappled field. Tall grass sways in a gentle breeze.
SOUND: Wind rustling through grass, the distant, pure sound of children LAUGHING.
CLOSE ON Corey’s face (in the shop), a look of profound, peaceful nostalgia.
CLOSE ON Junior’s face (in the shop), utterly stunned. A tear escapes his eye.
JUNIOR (V.O.)
>>(choked, emotional)
> I… I remember this. Running… the smell of warm hay. And laughing. I was laughing.
-- END MEMORY SEQUENCE --
INT. CANDY SHOP - DAY
Back in the amber glow of the shop. The world outside seems to have vanished.
Agnes watches them, her own candy dissolving on her tongue. A single, silent TEAR traces a path down her weathered cheek.
AGNES
>>(a whisper)
> Yes. The laughter. The warmth. That’s it, isn’t it? Before… before everything became so terribly loud.
The sensation fades. The air in the shop feels normal again.
Agnes extends a gnarled hand and gently touches Corey’s arm. Her skin is dry, papery. She gives him a silent, knowing look. A secret passed.
Junior blinks, dazed, wiping his cheek.
JUNIOR
> Agnes… what *was* that?
Agnes merely smiles. A profound, unreadable expression. It holds secrets, wisdom, and a deep, wistful sorrow.
SOUND: The bell above the door gives another soft, singular CHIME, entirely of its own accord.
Corey looks from the bell, to the jars of candy, to Agnes’s ancient, knowing eyes. He understands.
FADE TO BLACK.
The spring sun hits an old candy shop. The building’s FADED GREEN PAINT seems to glow with a soft, otherworldly light. The street around it is muted, cool, slightly desaturated.
COREY (15), introspective and quiet, stands on the pavement, mesmerized. He runs a finger along the peeling paint of the window frame.
His friend, JUNIOR (15), restless and impatient, stands at the door, hand on the tarnished brass handle. A crumpled chocolate bar wrapper is in his other hand.
JUNIOR
> You coming or what, Corey?
Corey is pulled from his reverie. He nods, walking towards the door.
INT. CANDY SHOP - DAY
The door opens.
SOUND: A single, surprisingly clear CHIME from an ancient bell. The sound hangs in the air, then dissipates.
The atmosphere inside is a stark contrast to the outside. The air is thick, dense with the smell of sugar and old paper. Shafts of golden light cut through the gloom, illuminating dancing DUST MOTES.
The shop is a narrow rectangle, crammed floor to ceiling with glass jars and wooden barrels. The walls are the same peculiar shade of faded green. It’s not retro; it’s genuinely old.
Corey breathes it in, a look of quiet wonder on his face. Junior is already scanning the shelves, looking for something familiar.
Behind a long wooden counter stands AGNES (80s). Her hair is a wispy cloud of white, her spine curved like a question mark. She meticulously arranges liquorice allsorts, her thin, gnarled fingers moving with a slow, deliberate grace. Her eyes, a startling, sharp blue, are focused on her task.
JUNIOR
> Afternoon, Agnes.
Agnes looks up. A slow smile spreads across her face, crinkling the corners of her eyes.
AGNES
> Corey. Junior. Back again. Spring has certainly sprung, hasn’t it? Everything feels… softer.
Her voice is like rustling paper.
COREY
> Yes, Agnes. It feels like it was only last week we were here, but also… a very long time ago.
Agnes lets out a dry, papery chuckle.
AGNES
> Time, my dear, is like molasses in this place. Thick and sweet, and not always moving in a straight line.
Junior, oblivious, rattles a handful of fizzy cola bottles into a small paper bag.
JUNIOR
> You got any of those new sour worms, Agnes? The ones that glow?
Agnes’s eyes refocus on Junior.
AGNES
> Glow? No, dear. My worms are quite content not to glow. They prefer their natural, sugary luminescence.
She gestures vaguely towards a barrel of gummy worms.
AGNES
>>(CONTINUED)
> Besides, glowing candy… that feels a bit too much like the future, doesn’t it? We keep things here as they should be.
She turns to weigh Junior’s sweets on an old brass scale. As she does, her hand moves to a small shelf tucked just beneath the counter’s lip.
CLOSE ON AGNES’S HAND
For a fleeting second, her fingers brush against something small, metallic, hidden from Junior’s view. A glint of silver. A SMALL, DARK FLASK.
Her movement is a magician’s flick of the wrist. A quick, almost imperceptible tilt of her head. A silent sip. The flask vanishes back into the shadows of the counter.
She turns back, a faint sheen in her bright blue eyes. Her smile is a fraction wider.
AGNES
> That’ll be three pounds and seven pence, dear.
As Junior fumbles for coins, Corey picks up a cellophane bag of pale yellow and pink PEAR DROPS. He studies them, feeling their weight.
COREY
> What’s your favourite, Agnes?
Agnes pauses, her gaze distant, focused on something beyond the walls of the shop.
AGNES
> Favourite? I suppose it changes, with the spring. This year, I find myself rather fond of… the quiet ones. The ones that don’t shout.
JUNIOR
>>(stuffing a cola bottle in his mouth)
> Like what?
A small, secretive smile plays on Agnes’s lips.
AGNES
> Come round here, both of you. I have something… not on the usual menu.
Junior gives Corey a skeptical look but shuffles around the counter.
Agnes reaches beneath the counter again. Not for the flask. She brings out a small, ORNATE WOODEN BOX, its surface polished smooth by countless years of handling.
She opens it with a delicate CLICK.
Inside, nestled on a bed of faded velvet, are three pieces of candy. They are roughly spherical, a dull, earthy brown. Unassuming. Silent.
AGNES
>>(whispering)
> These are for when the world gets too loud. For when you need to remember the quiet hum of things. Their flavour is a memory, a suggestion, not a definition.
She offers one to Corey. He takes it. Her fingers are warm.
She offers the second to Junior.
JUNIOR
> They look like old pebbles, Agnes.
AGNES
> They do, don’t they? But sometimes, the most unassuming things hold the greatest stories.
She takes the third for herself, holding it between her thumb and forefinger.
AGNES
>>(CONT'D)
> Go on. Try it. Let it unfold.
Corey places the strange candy in his mouth. He closes his eyes.
There is no immediate burst of flavour. It dissolves slowly.
Corey’s expression shifts. It’s not a taste. It’s a feeling. A sense of quiet contentment washes over him.
Junior reluctantly pops his own candy in his mouth. He chews impatiently, then stops. His eyes, usually darting and restless, go wide. They fix on some unseen point beyond the shop window.
-- MEMORY SEQUENCE --
The image becomes SLIGHTLY OVEREXPOSED, dreamlike, with a SOFT FOCUS.
EXT. FIELD - DAY (MEMORY)
SLOW MOTION. A sun-dappled field. Tall grass sways in a gentle breeze.
SOUND: Wind rustling through grass, the distant, pure sound of children LAUGHING.
CLOSE ON Corey’s face (in the shop), a look of profound, peaceful nostalgia.
CLOSE ON Junior’s face (in the shop), utterly stunned. A tear escapes his eye.
JUNIOR (V.O.)
>>(choked, emotional)
> I… I remember this. Running… the smell of warm hay. And laughing. I was laughing.
-- END MEMORY SEQUENCE --
INT. CANDY SHOP - DAY
Back in the amber glow of the shop. The world outside seems to have vanished.
Agnes watches them, her own candy dissolving on her tongue. A single, silent TEAR traces a path down her weathered cheek.
AGNES
>>(a whisper)
> Yes. The laughter. The warmth. That’s it, isn’t it? Before… before everything became so terribly loud.
The sensation fades. The air in the shop feels normal again.
Agnes extends a gnarled hand and gently touches Corey’s arm. Her skin is dry, papery. She gives him a silent, knowing look. A secret passed.
Junior blinks, dazed, wiping his cheek.
JUNIOR
> Agnes… what *was* that?
Agnes merely smiles. A profound, unreadable expression. It holds secrets, wisdom, and a deep, wistful sorrow.
SOUND: The bell above the door gives another soft, singular CHIME, entirely of its own accord.
Corey looks from the bell, to the jars of candy, to Agnes’s ancient, knowing eyes. He understands.
FADE TO BLACK.