Deep Water H.S

five.

The heavenly sweet scent of pancakes floated along the warm air as Harry tapped his knuckles rhythmically to the stone wall he was sitting on.

"I can't imagine the appeal of banana and peanut butter on your pancakes," he spoke, glancing up to the silhouette of Ava standing before him. Bright lights gleamed from behind her, haloing her small frame.

She turned around, remembering Harry's quiet presence. Her hair glimmered in the light as she did so, and Harry admired it in secret, very deeply.

"You'd be surprised." She grinned at him and he felt his lips twitch at a smile in response. "But it's not for me."

Before he could ask who the pancake was for, they were handed their order and Ava was towing Harry away from the sweet-scented stall.

A bite of cinnamon and sugar-filled pancake entered his mouth soon after and a deep smile seeped onto his face. He hadn't bought pancakes from a stall and eaten them on the street in years. In the back of his head was a feeling he often got, a feeling that everyone was observing him. He decided to try to push the feeling aside, because for tonight it was only Ava who was watching him in amusement.

"I haven't had pancakes in years," he explained demurely, glancing over to meet her eyes.

"I see..." She turned away and laughed softly. Her eyes drifted around the market place, recognising familiar faces whom she waved to. It was something of a village centre, with stalls circling the area. Crafted items like beaded bracelets, tie-dye clothing and different paintings were set up in the centre of the market, where people wandered around to see if they could find some interesting to buy.

Ava and Harry were among the stream of people, looking in at a bright and attractive world of craft and art. Harry was amazed at the talent those people of such a small town possessed. It astonished him that such talent could be found in a town whose name no one remembers.

But Harry knew he would remember. He would always remember this place. It was slowly becoming one of his favourite locations, in fact.

"So beautiful..." he heard Ava say. He followed her eyes to an oil painting of a beach. No, her beach. He recognised the rock formation to the left of the painting almost immediately. It was breath-taking, with the sun just barely beginning to rise and the rough sea lifting mist into the air. Looking at it, he could feel the cold, salty discharge of the ocean as he did in the early morning.

"How much is this one?" he asked, turning to the painter who sat back in a deck chair under him. He wore a wide-rimmed sunhat-a woman's sunhat, Harry noted-that covered almost all of his tan, dirty face. He was scrawny, seen even under the enormous clothing he wore.

Harry wondered if the man was asleep.

"Excuse m-"

"Five hundred and fifty rand, that is," he slurred, his voice rasp. He didn't bother removing his sunhat.

Harry fished into his wallet and pulled out the cash. "Here you are, sir."

It was only then that the sunhat was pulled from his head, revealing a thick head of matted, blond locks that cascaded down his back. Harry looked into the man's pale blue eyes for the first time. A dope fiend's eyes: distant and glassy, with pupils so small he looked unhuman. He had seen enough of them in the industry now.

"Why, Avalene, nice to see you around town."

Harry looked over his shoulder and cautiously perceived Ava's faint smile and nod at the acknowledgement. "As to you, Phil."

"And who's your new little friend here?" Harry stiffened when the man's eyes fell over him. They drifted along his body until meeting Harry's eyes again.