Young Writers Society

Note: The spelling mistakes in the dialogue are deliberate.

__________________________________________________________

The market was one of the longest street markets in Europe. It reached almost a mile long in length and was the centre of the district. Shops lined the market from end to end, offering clothes, food and technology of all sorts. Small flats occupied the spaces above the shops. There were small market stalls dotted along the pavements as far as the eye could see from here. Smells of cooking food, herbs and spices wafted in the air and Zack found his stomach growling. The fresh foods were vibrantly coloured and the flags flashed in the sunlight.

“Ger-rapes…ger-rapes…ger-rapes, ger-rapes, ger-rapes!” one stall holder sang, his off-key voice carrying through the air. “A kilo of grapes for just ’alf a pound. Lovely sweet and fresh grapes…”

Zack was surprised that customers walking through the market hadn’t yet wrapped their hands around the stall holder's neck to strangle him.

“Freshly cooked samosas! Come and git ’em while they’re still hot!”

Up ahead, a crowd was gathered, blocking almost all of the path through the market off. The path had been narrowed by the crowds and was now just about wide enough for one or two people to slip through on both sides.

“Bloody buggering hell,” Zack grumbled as he tugged on one of the straps of his backpack. “Not another crowd.”

He would have to squeeze past the crowd and that was if they would let him. Half the time, most people couldn’t even hear above the shouts and loud voices in this market. Even the stall holders had trouble yelling their deals and offers to people.

Screams and cries suddenly erupted from the crowd but quickly turned into hacking coughs as dust rose into the air. Zack paused in his tracks and frowned and immediately regretted it the moment the dust swarmed into his face. Violent coughs shook Zack’s body and he squeezed his eyes shut but tears still managed to squeeze themselves from the corners of his eyelids. He covered his face with his arm in an attempt to block the dust but it was no use.

“And that’s all, folks!” someone yelled from within the crowd. The voice sounded like it could belong to a kid. It still had that teenage essence to it, as if it was just freshly broken.

The crowd broke out into cheers and claps, and people yelled in amazement. Zack slowly opened his eyes and lowered his arm from his face. He shook his head and snorted in disgust. It was probably someone just performing “magic” tricks to earn money. For some reason, this market had always attracted people like that, phoneys eager to con their ways for a little money on the streets. Zack tapped the toe his boot on the ground impatiently and glanced at his wristwatch. It read 16:02 and he suppressed a groan. He was going to be late for his afternoon studies if he didn’t get home soon enough and then he wouldn’t get the stellar grades he desperately wanted and needed…

Finally, the crowd dispersed, breaking Zack from his thoughts. Now, he could get home on time and get his studying done at last. Sighing with relief, Zack pressed on. He found himself falling into step with the people beside him, trudging through the market at the same pace.

“’Scuz, please. Sorry, mister,” someone mumbled into Zack’s ear and he was gently pushed aside by a kid who couldn’t have been older than him, still with the touch of a young boy. His jet-black hair stuck out at the bottom of his filthy newsboy cap as if desperately trying to escape.

He struggled to get past, walking on his toes to glance over the crowd. Then someone collided into him, smashing into his shoulder. Zack heard him gasp in pain as the person slipped into the crowds without a word of apology, and caught a glimpse of the kid’s electric blue eyes as he turned his head to catch sight of the already disappeared person. Grumbling and rubbing his sore shoulder with one hand, he faced the front again.

Something heavy landed on one of Zack’s boots.

Zack groaned and skidded to a halt. He looked down at his feet and his mouth dropped open into a gaping “o”. Lying inches from Zack’s boot was a wallet fat and stuffed to the brim with money. His heart lurched into his mouth and his eyes widened. He picked it up and turned it in his hands, admiring the weight and feeling the worn leather with his fingers,

Christ on a bike! How much money is in this thing?

Then the realisation hit him like an icy cold wave. The wallet must’ve belonged to the kid with the grubby newsboy cap. Who else had been walking in front of him at the time?

Zack had to return the wallet.

“Hey, wait!” yelled Zack, his cry piercing above the constant hum and chatter of the crowd. “You dropped something!”

The kid bolted.

What the..?

The kid disappeared, dissolving into the crowd as quick as a flash. Zack’s eyes widened.

“Wait, I’ve got your wallet!” he cried, hurtling himself through the crowd, shoving surprised and annoyed people aside. “I’m not going to hurt you!”

But the boy continued to run.

People yelped and cried out in shock and surprise as Zack shoved them out of his way, and he quickly mumbled apologies that were lost the moment that they joined the stamping hum of the crowd. The boy’s cap bobbed in and out of view between the bodies and heads of people but Zack was determined to find him.

Zack’s breath came in ragged gasps and his throat burned. Sweat hastily gathered and rolled down the sides of his face. People smashed into him from all directions, sending white hot pain shooting through his body but he didn’t care. Just when he thought that the market and the crowds would never end, he burst out of the crowd and into the open, and it was as if Zack had hit fresh air and was free of last of the tidal wave of people. He caught sight of the young boy a few metres ahead.