I have longed to be at the market, my freedom, my friend for so long, that it had completely changed.
The usually brown fried grass, had turned a lush pear coloured green, soft as silk and smooth as a footpath.
Kicking off my bubblegum pink slides, my toes curled around the soft grass, as it calmed me like a mother and a baby.
A warm delicious smelt wafted up my nose, and I whipped my head around to hear a familiar voice.
“ Come for your usual. 12 jam donuts with some whipped cream on the side?”
Happiness spread through me like a spread on toast.
“ Uncle Bobby!” I cried barrelling towards him almost knocking him over. Bobby wasn’t actually my uncle, but he sure looked like it. He was a plump man as he basically lived on donuts and a dark oak brown beard that bonces up and down when he laughed. His hair was a lovely chestnut brown with little golden specks.
“ Here are some donuts for my favourite customer” He whispered as I bit into a cinnamon coated donuts, with strawberry jam that exploded in my mouth. Licking my sugary fingers I thanked Bobby and wandered towards Miss B the woman that ran the perfume shop. As I skipped happily down rows upon rows of sapphire blue tents, with cheerful people talking and gossiping about the best wind chime to buy.
All of a sudden, a beautiful sound drifted through the air drawing people towards it. I followed the army of people to where an old man was sitting upon a short tree stump, with a corn coloured straw hat sat beside him.
He was clutching a flute, doing complicated movements with his bony fingers.
The song was sad, but peaceful, relaxing. Almost making me cry. He finished with a flourish and I expected people to shower him with shiny gold coins. Instead he got icy cold glares and angry stares. One little boy poked his stained red tongue out at him and I gave him the meanest glare I could do. Scared, the boy ran towards his Mum, dropping his candy apple in the process. Chuckling to myself, I turned back to the old man, but he had disappeared. I frowned and looked up at the glossy white clouds, willing for an answer for the rudeness to that man.
“ Lucy, where have you been! You must sample some of my new perfumes!” Called a french accent, knocking me out of my thoughts.
“ Hi, Miss B! Lovely morning, did you hear the man playing the flute?” I inquired, flashing my best on-stage smile. It was returned with a frown.
“ Darling, he is just a disgusting hobo with only an old fashioned flute. He is a beggar” said Miss B angry voice as she rummaged around the sickly sweet perfumes.
Now I was the one to be upset. How could those people treat him like that.
Angry, I marched out of the gypsy tent, with Miss B muttered rude things about the old man.
Screwing my fists into tight balls, swallowing my angry,
Not even the fresh smell of pears, apples and watermelon could make peace.
Grabbing a cherry from Mr Beacon's stall, I threw on the ground and stamped on it until it looked like nothing more than a scarlet red patch on the grass.
“ You know you have to pay for that, Miss” gabbled Mr beacon, a man with a tomato red face and a big bushy moustache.
I wish I could punch his silly little face like a big punching bag.
Instead, I politely paid and stalked away.
I passed trading hubs with angry men and women fighting over silly antique stuff that is probably 1000 years old. Next came Nelly's fries and burgers. My stomach lurched, but I kept my cool as I passed a child with a scrumptious looking burger with pearly white mayonnaise dripping out the side.
Then, I heard that sound. That beautiful sound that is so Serene, so quiet, so sad.
Pumping my legs to go faster, I came to a halt in the front of the old man with his wispy sliver hair and bony fingers moving quickly across the flute. Grappling around in my pocket, I found a 50c coin. I began walking nonchalantly over to the man, then stopped. What if he wasn’t a kind man and started slapping me with his sky blue flute.
No, I would not let this get me down.
Taking a deep breath, I dropped the coin into the straw hat and lifted my head up to see a smile so wide and so big on that man's face that I smiled too. Tears ran down the wrinkled cheeks of the old man. He grabbed my hand and squeezed my hand and I squeezed back.
That was the best day at the market. Ever.
Kia ora, bloggers. My name is Lucy and I am a student at marshland school. This week, we had to do a writing test. I thoroughly enjoyed it. We had to do a piece of writing about a market. We had to turn it into a descriptive story. I hope you enjoy my story and tell em what I can improve on.
Do you like my story?
Blog you later!
By the way, I have not edited this so you might find some spelling mistakes.
