I'm redoing this story almost completely. It's being ripped up and restarted and most definitely cleaned.
I don't know Chronicles of Narnia and all within.
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No money again today, there hadn't been money for weeks now. At least she had the fish. Fish was all she needed. The fish were all she had.
()-()
People always overlooked the little boy, the permanently ragged and brown little boy. He always had a bucket of fish, hoping to sell them. They were fresh, still alive, even. But it didn't matter how good the fish were, or how cheap the price was. No one would buy the little boy's fish. A long time ago, the bucket was towed alongside a scrawny Archenland man. He always came alone to the market, sometimes he made money and sometimes he left penniless. But to him it didn't seem to matter. He would take the fish home, still alive thanks to the water he kept in the massive jug of his. Some people figured he fed his family with them, others thought he let them go so he could catch them again. The others wondered if he even had a family and argued that he would not waste the energy to retrieve the released creatures.
"He'd just keep them," they argued.
One day the man stopped coming. Day by day, the people watched for the quiet man with the bucket of flopping fish. Some of his more loyal customers waited. After a week they gave up and moved on to the other fish marketers. Then after about two weeks of the man less corner the little boy arrived. He was armed with the very same bucket of fish. The ways in which the boy received the bucket were questioned. Did he kill the man from the corner? Did the boy steal the bucket, and the man's livelihood?
"Certainly not," they said. "He's much too small."
It was decided that the boy was related to the nameless man from the corner. The only semblance of a family the man ever had. The boy did what his father did everyday. He came with fish, and left with the fish he did not sell. One day, another and much larger boy walked with the small child. He carried the tub of fish. Unlike the small boy, and the small boy's father, he did not tug the watery tank behind him. Instead, he hefted it along. Holding it up with two rope handles, the boy squatted and set the hollowed container on the ground before waving goodbye and walking away. The small boy didn't reply. For two years the boy stood at the corner. He stayed there, silent, waiting, and untouched. No one even bothered stopping to look at his fish anymore. They were too small, his practice too weak. The other fishermen easily monopolized his sales. Then one day, the little boy disappeared, the muddy footprints didn't dot the already dusty ground anymore. To the people of the market, the boy just vanished. The steady corner was man less once more and no one took notice.
~[]-[]~