(no subject)
Mar. 2nd, 2011 06:03 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
al-shairan.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
estdeus_innobisSaturday lunchtime, the marketplace
It is the kind of spring day that has men walking with their hands in their pockets, smiles on their faces, a day when women go out to buy bread and come home with flowers alongside the loaves. It is the perfect day to sow seeds of misery; I will be like a fly in new milk, spreading corruption. And so the old man Uri, last seen just before Valentine's Day, comes back along the abbey road with a pack on his back, humming as he goes.
I take up a stall at the market after an exchange of coins, and I lay out my wares on a clean white cloth, small bottles like jewels, potions the rich tones of green-gold and scarlet and purple and the soft hues of lavender and sunset pink. A handwritten sign is attached to the front of the stall that reads, in a steady sloping hand, MAKE ALL YOUR DREAMS COME TRUE. I sit down on the stool behind my stall.
"Masters, mistresses, young misses, I deal in dreams. No more afternoons long and dreary. Pass an idle hour walking through the warmth of an orchard, the taste of apple between your teeth! Lie down tonight with the company of she you most desire! Spend a day as fresh faced as you were in your youth! All your wishes can come true, for a limited time. Side effects there are none, and satisfaction is guaranteed."
That the satisfaction is yours is not, of course.
[Open]
FAUSTUS. Now tell me what saith Lucifer, thy lord?
MEPHIST. That I shall wait on Faustus whilst he lives,
So he will buy my service with his soul.
It is the kind of spring day that has men walking with their hands in their pockets, smiles on their faces, a day when women go out to buy bread and come home with flowers alongside the loaves. It is the perfect day to sow seeds of misery; I will be like a fly in new milk, spreading corruption. And so the old man Uri, last seen just before Valentine's Day, comes back along the abbey road with a pack on his back, humming as he goes.
I take up a stall at the market after an exchange of coins, and I lay out my wares on a clean white cloth, small bottles like jewels, potions the rich tones of green-gold and scarlet and purple and the soft hues of lavender and sunset pink. A handwritten sign is attached to the front of the stall that reads, in a steady sloping hand, MAKE ALL YOUR DREAMS COME TRUE. I sit down on the stool behind my stall.
"Masters, mistresses, young misses, I deal in dreams. No more afternoons long and dreary. Pass an idle hour walking through the warmth of an orchard, the taste of apple between your teeth! Lie down tonight with the company of she you most desire! Spend a day as fresh faced as you were in your youth! All your wishes can come true, for a limited time. Side effects there are none, and satisfaction is guaranteed."
That the satisfaction is yours is not, of course.
[Open]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}