the apricot boy
"all our dreams can come true, if we have the courage to pursue them."
- Walt Disney
in a small, run down village on the edge of the capital, in the close knit streets where no tongue held still. it either gossiped, wound with another or helped a beers journey to the belly and to the brain.
it was in a cold, damp cellar that a boy counted his wares into a basket. he set himself targets for each day, sell 14 on tuesday or 30 on thursday, because of the kings banquet. and in the morning, the boy would wander the straw lined streets, dodging pick pockets and spice sellers, ignoring whores and rich mens goads. he'd cry out the sale of the little golden fruit that he carried around. he'd sell them to hungry guards, or greedy merchants or luscious sluts that'd slowly, seductively eat them in front of clients. he'd sell and put all the little brown coins in a clay pot in his cellar under the whore house and he'd save. he had a little painting his late mother gave him, of a better world.
one day, the apricot boy didn't wander the streets crying out about the little golden fruit. instead he sat proudly, steering the rudder of small wooden boat, on clear blue seas. a picture of a dream. he sailed to a better place, biting into a small, golden apricot.
YOU ARE READING
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Nouvellesa collection of short and unfinished stories because while i have great ideas i don't carry them on (c o p y r i g h t @ f l e u r - d e - m o r d e)
