IGCSE Component 2

There were rumors of an area in the city where the machines did not loiter and the people were not facing a screen.

The market flourished in the abyss of the night; the time when humans would be fast asleep, dreaming of such a place. Under the glistening, glittering, golden lights which stole the majesty of the stars, lied the busy stalls and carts that seem to multiply with each direction. The rumors were true – such a place of magic did truly exist; the glow of the silverware from the various utensils shone under the moonlight as the market was only just awake.

From coast to coast, the night market would be swarmed with a river of heads, hair and hats, walking in a direction where the smell of the sea would be present. As fishes to bait, predator to prey, their statuses would vanish among these heads. They passed words with each other, but these are evidently swollen by the void. The sharks in the stands shouted their submissions to the incoming strays, performing magic tricks with transactions which turned heads and wallets. They had transformed simple, mediocre items into the last documentation of ancient civilizations. These sharks had evolved.

Through the labyrinth of stalls slithered a rich aroma which had herded the crowd of heads to the furthest stand in the market; this was the last one that had emerged from the dark. Above this stood a green sign, unprofessionally made. The entire structure seemed to be unfinished yet no matter how unpleasing, it had looked. It had gathered more than a few and less than too many. A large cloud of smoke had risen from the stand onto the army of structures, pulling the strings of it’s people like puppets; the stall created classic, chewy, chocolate-coated apples. Quite a novice instrument to entice the many yet the smell had caused the puppets to relive their past. A sudden burst of colour, illusions and mischief had occurred in their minds.

Amongst all the vibrancy, illusions and mischief, stood an old man. Like the stands in the market, he came early and like the smell of the sea he lingered around. He stays there – silent, as if he was born in the background. However, his presence among all the neon lights and attempted glamour of the market were felt by the individuals within. In fear of disturbing him, the legions of people would creep past him and glance at his fragile and timeworn exterior. The ancient organism planted his feet into the ground, his arms branched to his side which swayed in the wind. The old being, face infected with scars that would crawl to opposite sides of his body began to survey the market; he targeted several stands and deposited each one with a glare of delight and freedom. This slowly became an emotion of isolation – although the man had glided through the market stalls, he knew that he would never interact with it. He would never speak to the people of his Atlantis. This ancient sediment stood there in the early hours of the night market until dawn when the sea of heads began to evaporate and the clones of stalls slowly became extinct.

The once lively land filled with hallucinations, slowly transformed into a desolate, empty, ghost market where the colossal space which was as wide as the ocean – simply became an empty basin. The man stood there, beamed his eyes around the once colourful landscape, a cracked frown appeared; he loathed the transitions of the market. He walked around and collected the memorabilia left from the market. The being salvaged what could be found, however the only item discovered was the glistening, glittering, golden lights of the ‘Night Market’. A smile crept and grew, he knew that it would return but for now…

..the Night Market was over.