The Market

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

I made it to the market by mid-day. Little was left revealing graffiti littered on the shelving walls. I would have been there at open but my money was missing.

I searched and searched until I found it lying empty around my passed out parent. I felt defeated, finding only $3 left.

“Well, I guess we will be eating small and bruised today,” I said to myself looking over the remains, “Just like every other day…”

Word Count: 75

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13 Thoughts

    1. Possibly. I wanted to be more broad with the addiction. I want the reader to be able to infer for themselves, allowing them to connect with the tragedy on a personal level.

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  1. Sounds like some of the children I know, some of the kids I’d worked with, who never knew when their next meal would come from, or if the foodstamps their parents got to feed them would indeed be used for filling the cabinets (and bellies) or would be ‘exchanged’ for drugs or booze. Some of the children could only count on the food they got in school. Breakfast (if they were able to get to school early enough) and lunch (which hopefully was nutritious enough) and sometimes, if they were lucky and had ‘after-school’, a snack. I’d come to school totting a bagful of bagels every morning – the kids knew they could take one to ‘help me so they not go to waste’ … Some used to keep half to give to a sibling before I found out and told them to take two. … These are sad realities and I’m sure even worse in some places.

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