My Entry

Everybody knew he was the best tailor around town. But his secret wasn’t a big deal. It was just that people decided to talk and make it big. Of course, people tried to figure out what made all his clothing... professional quality. The young tailor - Harrison Quill - never had the difficulty with designing. Something about his quality made his customers buy them. When people come by and purchase his product(s), the women usually give him a small wink. Although, the men give a glare when the women do so.

Harrison Quill had absolutely no idea what to do in this sort of situation. People were talking; dressmakers appeared as though they were ‘rebelling’ from having a friendship with him. Especially the other designers.
Without a doubt, they hated him.

While he frolicked down the dusty road that lay between rows and rows of other shops, he heard splashing sounds from somewhere to his right. Ignoring it, he kept on going towards the local market to fetch some more fruits. A couple steps later, he heard the sound again. But this time, a faint voice was heard in the background. Slowly walking backwards with a frown on his face, he dropped the basket that he was carrying - peering into the pink and cornflower blue restaurant. He merely closed his eyes and sighed. Not this again, he thought. Bolting for the diner, the smell of something spicy became stronger. Crinkling his nose, he smiled and crossed his arms.

“Did your toothbrush catch on fire again, Tish?” Harrison asked in a boring way.

The tall man called Tish glanced up and battered the wall with resentment. “It’s not the toothbrush this time,” the man grumbled. “It’s the feather duster…” his voice, piercing. Even though his only duster he had caught on fire and no longer usable, Harrison saw him smirk. “What are you up to, prancing around on a hot day like this?”

“Errands,” he said plainly. “We ran out of our favourite fruits. Plus, we need to make banana bread for our uncle’s arrival. He hasn’t eaten a loaf since last Christmas!”

Scoffing, Tish sat down on one of the tables. His thick, grey pants were slightly burnt but other than that, they were clean.

After a few seconds of what Harrison came to the conclusion to be an awkward silence, he scratched his egg-shaped head. “Well, I’ve got to get going now.” Waving goodbye, he went for the door. He checked the time to see how many minutes had passed ever since he had heard the loud sound, and he was late. Oh, boy… This is going to be a rough ride. He charged for the market but came to a skidding stop before he realised he completely forgot about the straw basket he dropped. He darted back to retrieve it before the market closed. For a split second, he didn’t know where he was going and ran straight into a bright-coloured shape. Muttering apologies (and not bothering to look up to see who he bumped into) he went around him and scrambled to stand up. The shape held out a hand and Harrison took it. He was immediately pulled up to his feet with tremendous force. He managed to gasp out a quick thanks and rushed for the basket.
Funny how such a small thing could make a big deal.

By the time Harrison had reached the market, it was early in the evening. He sighed in relief and walked right in without even noticing the time sign. It said that it was ten minutes past closing time - closing at around 5:40 PM. Somehow, the door was unlocked. Entering the market, he got the fruits he needed and headed for the cashier’s counter. He saw that the usual woman with bushy hair wasn’t there. Ringing the service bell, he waited for somebody to come out from the storage space at the back. Fortunately, there was at least one employee that was happy to help. Placing the fruits on the counter, he placed the money for the food beside the fruits. Nodding in thanks, Harrison headed for the exit.

He pushed (just like the sticker said on the door) but it didn’t open. “Oye. The door’s stuck,” he said.
“I know,” the cashier growled thickly.

Harrison furrowed his brow. “Beg your pardon?”

“You’re Mr Quill’s kid, right?” The cashier crossed his arms.

Harrison nodded.

“Well, I’m the one that locked the door.” The cashier a good poker-face. “It was the only way to speak to you - in private. So let me ask you this; why in a chicken’s name are you so attractive when it comes to selling clothing?”

The young tailor let the message sink in and checked the cashier’s name tag. He chuckled. “You guys don’t get it, do you, Erin? I’m tellin' yah, it’s no big deal!”

“If it’s not a big deal, why do you just spill it?” the employee named Erin snapped.

“It’s all about patience. You can accomplish anything if you have patience, really…”

Erin’s eyes went round and gasped. Perhaps taken aback. “That’s it? Is that really all that’s been taking you this far as a designer?”

Harrison shrugged. “Pretty much. If you’re expecting to hear more, you’re fooling yourself.”
All the colour was drained out of Erin’s face. His heart beating hard against his chest, he dropped the money he was holding to put in the cash register. “Gynu - the tailor from the town towards the west - has patience. Yet, he can’t get good quality!

“It’s just me.” Harrison hinted.

A crease formed on Erin’s forehead. “But that doesn’t make any sense! You can’t just have patience! It’s a practice, more or less. I’m starting to think you’ve got more of a trick up your sleeve. I think it’s not fair that you can make more money than those who work harder!”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I was born with the ability to wait for time!”

(998 words)