Sale Time #2 (freewrite fiction)

Read the first part of Sale Time here.

_{Photo by wild vibez on Unsplash}

He runs his hands across the stalls while the owners aren't looking. Ah, but they're always looking and they see him now and wonder where he's come from, not so much how he's found them, but why he's come back.
How dare he, they might ask, if they were different people. But it's their game to see how much people dare, so asking would be senseless. They let him pass without saying a word. Let him speak first, he's the one cast out, not they. And besides why should they bother speak? They don't need to sell anything now, not to him.
And he looks each of them in the eye, secretly, a passing acknowledgment, though not a welcome back.

'Why have you come here?' the oldest one asks him before he even reaches his stall. Around them, there are people walking, talking, afraid to ask but asking nevertheless. The old master is not on his chair, but somewhere at the back, hidden in the shadows of the day that hasn't yet quite come.
'I heard there might be a bit of a jam tomorrow, so I thought I best try today, you know, avoid the rush.'
The old master grins, but there is poison oozing from his teeth. 'I see you haven't lost your charm.'
'I guess you could say that.'
'Then why did you leave? Why don't you join us?'

The faint smile that was crawling on the young one's lips disappears, in an instant. They never understood and it would be foolish to think they'll understand him now.
'I just might,' he tells the master, both of them serious now, the master's eyes cutting deep into his skin.
'Have you changed your mind?'

He can see the master doesn't trust him, so he treads carefully. 'No. No, I haven't. I still hear their voices, their screams of agony. So no, it hasn't changed, what made me leave. But I think that maybe I could numb them for a little while, make them silent while I do this. You know how it is.'

And the truth is, they both do. They know the fire that floods into your ears, that makes your heart beat fast, racing against your breast-bone, that drowns out all sound.
The old master looks at him for a long time, studying each crease of his brow, and nods.

'Good, good. We could always use someone like you. There was no one quite like you ever, you know that. You were always special.'

And it is the young one's turn to nod. For yes, he was most special and that in the end, proved his undoing.

'I'm not promising anything, but staying away from it all just doesn't seem to work. They're...always there.'
'So you figured you might as well do what you were created to do,' the old master says, with a sly grin. He's never forgiven him for leaving. It's not so much that the old one doesn't understand the screaming, just that he doesn't see why they should be a problem. Once, long ago, when the voices in his head had been just a whisper, he'd asked the master if he ever heard...noises. If the sinners he sold ever came back looking for him and the masters had stared at him, his eyes sad and tired, betraying nothing that went on in his mind. And in the end, he'd only shaken his head and said nothing about it.
And now once more, the man wonders what goes on inside that head, thinks perhaps the tormented have taken over the master completely, they wreck havoc in his mind, burning him slowly as he runs.

Because it's far too late to stop. The old man couldn't board up his stall even if he wanted to. 'Tomorrow,' he says and soon enough, tomorrow comes.

The man is up early, waking from a night of anxious dreams. He walks through the darkness to the spot he's chosen. It's not too close to the others, and yet not too far. Just within reach, as he likes to think of it. He finds it comes easy, setting up the little stool and painting the promises up front. Like he was never gone at all, really.

No one can see the promises, because they're not really there. It's a spell inside a mind, inside a broken heart, inside a dying body. The customers know what the promises are, memories of loved ones flying in their heads, the scent of gold livening their nostrils, pleasure beyond their wildest imaginings, all at the price of none. Half off, special deal, bargain price. It's not just the demons who know it's sale time.

Slowly, they line up, waiting, nervously glancing round. They fear someone might recognize them, but worse, that they might try to steal their spot. There is room for everyone at his shop of sin, but they've never been able to understand. He looks at them, one by one.

Let them sit for a while longer, he thinks. In silence, they wait, eyes almost begging him to hurry up, for over his shoulder, they can already see the beautiful lives they might soon lead. Hats in their hands, thankyousir on their lips.

Reluctantly, yet already feeling the old wicked thrill, he opens shop.

to be continued

This is a freewrite based on the prompt 'jam tomorrow'. The 5 Minute Freewrite Challenge was created and is hosted/supported by the amazing @mariannewest - check her out!

Thank you for reading,