Market of the Macabre
He drifted through the cacophony with certain inevitability. Barkers called out their wares along the way.
“Seed of life, extracted via rectal cavity!”
“Fetal tissue from forced abortion!”
“Skullcap of a suicided dwarf!”
“Broken heart! Freshly broken!”
On and on the calls went, featuring items of the grisly and the grotesque. His attention, then, was ripped away by the Finder rapping on the bars of his cage.
“Too bad none of these Rippers has you, eh, lad?” The Finder’s chuckle was wet and croupy. A clump of phlegm shot out and slid down one of the bars. “I knows me my goods, I does, I does. Make me a small fortune from it, too.”
He watched with feverish eyes as the Finder stopped the cart and climbed up next to the cage. A pause, a heaving breath, and the Finder’s barked call brought all to silence in the market for a brief moment. Then as one, merchant and consumer alike surged forward to bid for this new prize.
“Last breath of a sickly boy with no hope, bottled right before your very eyes!”