Friday July 6th, 2012

The exercise:

Four lines of prose about: the trader.

It pains me to say this, but we'll be skipping tomorrow's farmers market, despite the likelihood that the weather will be the nicest it has been in a month in a half. We're between fruit (cherries are done and apricots are not quite ready to come off the trees) and don't have enough veggies and berries to make the trip worth it. Plus we're really behind on garden work.

On the plus side, this has been the most relaxing and enjoyable Friday night we've had since the markets started. Kat and I went out for dinner at a Greek restaurant we've been meaning to try since we moved here (food was good, service was not) and then went for a walk at the beach.

It's like summer is finally here or something.


The shop was crowded, but not unpleasantly so. A window had been opened and through it a welcome breeze entered to meander through items with mysterious and murky origins.

An old man surveyed the scene from behind a well-worn (though not well-loved) desk, his good hand resting on the cash register while his other attempted to smooth the wiry hairs protruding from his scalp. He waited patiently, as he had for more years than anyone could remember, for a customer to offer a trade that would satisfy his dark cravings.


Greg said...

I hope you get lots of garden work done then! I know it's a shame to miss something you do regularly, but it sounds like the right decision, definitely. And the Friday evening off sounds quite lovely too!
Your trader reminds me of the shopkeeper from Gremlins, or possibly (but less so) the Simpsons riff on that in one of their Hallowe'en episodes! Very atmospheric.

The trader
Isabella Bonfontaine slid the teddy-bear's head, still bleeding, across the counter. The trader behind it stared first at the head, and then at her.
"Ok," she said, after a very long pause, "I'll believe that you're Isabella Bonfontaine, teddy-bear slayer. But why should I believe that I've sold her daughter?"

Marc said...

Greg - having trouble picturing either of those two at the moment, but I shall take your word on the comparison.

Delightfully gruesome scene; that's the only way I can think to describe it right now.

Morrigan Aoife said...

The door to the ancient looking shop swung open and over the threshold stepped a young woman in gothic dress. "May I help you?" asked the old chrone from behind the counter. "Yes, thank you sister. I require chalk, salt, and one salamander." The old hag placed the chalk and salt into a bag and then beckoned the young witch over. "Blue or red dearie? Which species of lizard do you need?" When the girl didn't answer she raised a suspicious eye. "And what shall you give me in return?" The young woman placed a rare black flame candle on the counter and smirked. "I'll take um both and your silence." She placed the two glass jars in the bag, winked, and picked up her parcel and exited the store.

Marc said...

Morrigan - oh my, what dark magic is about to be performed? I am intrigued, as usual.