To be an Artist

Once upon a time there was an artist, an artist that couldn't have children.


2. Tomatoes and Jars

She yawned. 

For what seemed like the upteenth time that day, she yawned as she sat behind the counter top and stared blankly at her reflection portrayed by the glass jar sitting before her. She would stare into the glass jar observing its dimensions. She could see the reflections of everything in the room and outside. The glass jars and vases shelved around her, through the open door outside there were a group of miners returning from the Great Mountains, the market stalls were still up and busy as patrons roamed the streets. It was just a day before the festival yet already many travelers flocked to the town of Ruben's Maine street. This girl longed to go outside herself but there had to be someone to man the shop. There's a flicker of movement portrayed on the glass and for the first time that day the girl's eyes move in its direction. She leans up off the counter and gazes towards the back where a young boy had been loitering. She felt him occasionally glancing in her direction earlier but she had been pretending not to have noticed. It was only now that he made his move and knowingly she rose up from her stool just in time to cut off the little thief who was trying to hide the glass jar in the left leg of his pants. 

Smart boy. He knew that from behind the counter she was less likely to notice his lower half. 

The girl knew him well, he was the son of the woman who sold the most juiciest tomatoes in all of Ruben's Maine and his Father was also a miner who used to show her all the rough gems they'd mine from the caves when she was just a kid.

"D'angelo." She said. The boy stopped in his tracks, his eyes were still fixed on the door and he didn't dare look at her, he knew what he had done - what he was about to do.


She holds up the jar in her hand and smiles a small smile. The boy's eyes widen. The jar was shaped like a giant tomato, perched on its head was the opening of it that was shaped like a crown. 

"You needed something to put your Mother's ashes in right?" she asked. Tears filled the boy's eyes. He nods. 

"...Thanks Zophelia." 

She nods a slow nod and the boy bends down to retrieve the stolen jar before gingerly swapping it out with the gift. Zophelia's grin widens as she looks over the jar he was about to steal. 

"World's finest huh?" she notes aloud. D'angelo reddens and he ducks his head down.

"I'm sorry!" He apologizes. 

"It's okay." Her eyes smile at him. "Be sure to ask if you need anything next time okay? No need to sin as a method of getting by."

"Not everyone is as nice as you though." He frowns at the floor. 

Zophelia tilts up his head, back to her eyes.

"Will you be picking up after your Mother's tomato business or will you help your Father in the mines?"

D'angelo eyes looks elsewhere. Looks like he didn't know.

"Your Mother always bragged about you being able to make some mean tomato sauce. I could lend you a few jars to sell them in..." She deliberately trails off and D'angelo eyes her, clearly skeptical of her proposal.

"Who would want to buy spaghetti sauce?" he asks. 

"You'd be surprise, there will be many visitors coming in tomorrow. I hear those folks from Newman's Land really love their pasta." 

"Hmm...." D'angelo was looking at the ground again but this time he was deep in thought and his eyes were alight with a special kind of fire. Finally he looks up.

"Maybe..." he trails off and gasps before even finishing the thought, clearly he had something in mind but he doesn't say anything, he had to move while the thought was still fresh in the back of his mind. "Thanks Zofee! I gotta go!" 

She watches him rush out before returning back to her position behind the counter where she leans down to peer back into the jar again. Not even a minute passes before she begins to yawn.

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