originals { ghosty } blitz

Missing out the cracks in the pavement, the wind encases me. My hair tangles within its arms and carries me through the ice towards a small shack on the side of the pathway.

I stand outside it, alone, gazing through the crack in the door to peer at the contents. It looks half empty - half full, and there is really no need for me to enter but I still I wonder about what happens if I do enter, and what happens if I don't.

Is this really what my life has come to, arguing with myself about going into a brown shack of a shop -- life is meant for chances.

My fingers wrapped up in old hand-me-down mittens push open the door. The hinges creak and my face winces slightly, but upon entering the shops I feel locked out from winter's touch. Before me: a flurry of people browsing and one woman handling all the purchases and problems.

On one shelf sits a fine line of "jewellery" items. There are no glittering metals or brightly coloured gemstones however -- the pieces are crafted from bone and everyday materials.  There is beauty in the poverty as it is in the eye of the beholder. 

The murmur of the crowd becomes mellow as the sound of money exchanges hands. I remove the mittens from my hands to rummage around my pockets for pennies but find nothing but a hole.

No pennies, either.