it will all be {invisible} || windy blitz

[mat]

[googlefont="Nothing You Could Do:400;"]

Tempus Dean

​Mama called me ungrateful ​
​again today when I told her I had no time to run to the market and get fresh fruits for her. One of my papers for school had a due date of two days from today, and today was the first of the weeks of opportunities I had where I finally put pen to paper.

And what I got done?

Tempus Dean.

Decemember 30th Paper.

The-

Mama couldn’t care less.{If you don’t run your ass to the market, Tempus Matthew Dean, you will not hear the end of it because you will no longer be a member of this house.} Before I could respond, she threw me her cash and coins and sent me off, telling me not to come back until I bought everything that was on her list.

6 apples.
1 Melon.
A bunch of Bananas.

-Mama

(P.S: spend any extra money and you’ll be donating your clothes to the poor to pay me back)​​
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The Marketplace isn’t too far from our home, a five-minute jogging distance at most.

My feet took me down the aisle of little huts with knick-knacks and fruits and clothing.​
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Everyone was just trying to make ends meet, but more often than not the people who tried desperately to tie loose ends with money never managed to.

One man yelled loudly that he was selling scarves. I looked over at the man who waved his product around in his hand. Not a single consumer to buy from him.

Walking over, I waved to the man whose arrangement of scarves were very exquisite.

Dear Mama, if I have to sell my clothes if I spend extra money, I might as well work on a new wardrobe, I smiled at the guy. ”How much?”​
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[wimdy]

A new shipment of yarn came in down at the market a week and a half ago, and no one noticed me helping lift the crates of wool from train and onto palates to move across the warehouse. They didn’t notice when I swiped a couple off of the top either. Mr. Corrigan didn’t notice me smuggling them into the house, or the scarves that I knit together in the basement night after night. I did see him wearing one out of the house after I left it on his pillow, though. It’s the least I can do for adding another mouth to the many in his home. The market is busy today, bustling with people who flit by me without a second glance. Every so often, I call out another line about handmade scarves, nice warm scarves, scarves to last you through the years, but so far I’ve sold none and my voice is going scratchy. It doesn’t surprise me, after all these years, but sixteen is too young to disappear from the world, so I keep calling all the same. Until a boy looks right at me, waves, and walks in my direction. I can feel my face screw up in confusion, head turning to make sure there’s no one behind me, but it’s just the wall. No, he’s looking right at me and walking right in my direction and talking to me. “Uhm… You’re… You really want to buy one? I- I mean, two silver, of course!”

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