katherineruts
The supermarket stood before like a vast wasteland of undecided hope. The slightly rotted fruits called her name, the giant carrot cakes smelled of love, and the playing children put a smile on her face. Associating the bustling scene with her mother, she raised her chin and grabbed a basket, ready to shop.
Walking to the market was always a melancholy experience. It reminded me of the trips I had taken with my grandmother when I was younger. The bright stalls, the buzzing flies, the fresh fruits. I always had such a bright image of it in my head.