Photo prompt © Jan Marler Morrill
I was about nine. She must have been around fifty but looked much older.
Whenever kids saw her they chased her, rhythmically chanting, ‘Witch, witch.’ In anguish, she would hurl abuses on them.
I had never teased her; I rather pitied her. But I was scared of her.
I had gone to the market to buy curd. As I was returning, a dog pounced on me. I ran for my life. Suddenly I saw the old woman at the other end of the street. Terrified, I collapsed.
Two sad, affectionate eyes greeted me when I came to my senses. I was in her lap.
‘Relax, you aren’t hurt,’ she said softly.
A post for FridayFictioneers on a photo prompt.
Word count 111