♘ ▸ IF MAMA COULD SEE IT NOW, she’d be proud.
this month’s harvest is nominal –- it’s nearing the end of a long, sweaty, fruitless summer after all – but it’s enough to pay off the utilities on the house and feed the horses. mary’s found that most of his labor is a lot of sowing with very little reaping. he’d done it all; tended to the bees, climbed peach trees (with the bruises flowering up his ribcage to prove it), done all the horseshoeing even when his back ached. now all he’s got to show for it is a few jars of honey, what peaches aren’t rotten, and a couple cartons of eggs. it pays, though, and that’s all that matters. some of the other folks have even claimed that his uncle’s peaches were the best in catterwhal.
( mary doesn’t think they’re all that special given the
height of the tree they’re falling from, but he’ll take
the compliment regardless. )
it’s maybe an hour till the farmer’s market is set to close, and the book mary’s been scanning for the past few hours is starting to blur into nonsense. he’s long took his earphones out, settled now with the white noise of the bodies shuffling around him. most of his stuff has sold by now ‘cept for the peaches –- which he can’t blame anyone for, considering their quality – and he almost wonders if he should start packing up shop when it happens: a shuffle, a clatter, and a series of soft bounces on concrete. mary’s eyes snap up from his book.
“ oh –- “ someone’s ran into his crate of peaches, knocking half of the bulk over. his confusion dulls once he’s realized what’s happened, and he laughs. “ it’s alright. let me get it. happens all the time, it was – you know, kind of set at a precarious angle anyway ––– “
mary kneels down to start picking up the fruit, but half of them are caked in dust from the market’s concrete flooring anyway, so he stops and sits back on the balls of his feet. lets out another soft laugh.
“ y’know, maybe it’s for the better. “
THE UNIVERSE HAD LITTLE TO OFFER HER outside of forks. by no means was she setting herself up for a dependency on her aged ties -- hell, they’ve been damaged, if not severed. but maybe frequently, given her abundance of self-doubt, she may think that she’ll never be as happy as she once was. BE IT SO. not like she’d admit to that. it’s not to say she hasn’t been fond of her adventures or found moments of joy; they do come and go, withering and fragile against her ego.
bella swan is nothing if not efficient. savings, good credit, and a willingness to work landed her the flexibility and capability to achieve the stable, but flittering lifestyle she felt suited her for the time being. what was she looking for ? who know’s. after everything in the past, she couldn’t articulate her reasoning for much of anything. it’s a daunting, lingering question; what the hell are you doing, bella?
places like catterwhal remind her of forks. whether she welcomes the nostalgia is a different ask. but if she keeps ending up in places like these, there’s a suppressed, obvious embrace of a comfortable, familiar aura. the nature always drew her in. the quaint communities displayed a sense of homeliness that bella, too, missed. the role of the quiet girl, however, was something she chose to deem herself -- often choosing to keep to herself.
unfortunately, bella’s not very good at blending in just like that.
she may overestimate the world’s plausible vendetta against her. but hey, bad shit happens. and inconvenient, awkward shit happens way more often than that. like getting bread could be so easy!! but here she is, mind ticking across manic thoughts like it’s a damn checklist to work through and distracting her thoroughly enough that she’s knocking down merchandise.
‘ fuck -- i’m so sorry ---- ‘ she starts, frozen for a second before she bends to her knees and starts collecting some and holding them in her other arm. she kinda gives up when he does, though. ‘ i swear, i didn’t mean to do that. i’ll buy some of them off you -- i’m sure with some water to clean them off, they’re perfectly edible, right? ‘
2087
titsay
prguitarman
turnnoffyourmind
