The beggar crouched in his doorway, unmistakable once you knew it was there. He watched the crowds swell and dwindle with each market day, jingling his cup if any passersby looked his way. The children raced bicycles up the stone ramps where proud men once guided carts full of herbs, spices, dried figs, zaatar bread – all the smells he remembered from long ago.
He was old. Older than anyone imagined.
The hawkers cried out, “Fresh pomegranates! Strawberry marzipan! Finest rugs and throws!”, but always the beggar lifted one ear for the call that would surely come one day.
“New lamps for old!”
Today’s flash fiction is hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields, with photo prompt by Kent Bonham. Kent’s beautiful photo from Jerusalem turned me into a slightly more Arabic bent, and I was reminded of the tales of Aladdin. What might happen to an old trickster, waiting to regain his power? The Friday Fictioneers strive to produce a 100-word story each week, and you can read more of them right HERE.