She’s the apple-of-the-eye of all the third graders, but not in a well-meant way. She is the newest kid with chubby cheeks and curly ginger hair. She’s deemed mysterious, actually, mischievous.
She lives in an old slaughterhouse found in the almost-abandoned area of our town. She allegedly lives with her grumpy evil-like grandpa. Some say they are witches or murderers– whatever horrible.
I don’t think she’s a witch, though she looks messy most of the time. But yes, their house and their lawn looked unsafe, unfriendly.
So why on earth am I walking towards their creepy boxed home holding three pieces of white daisies from my mom’s garden?
It’s because of her eyes. Oh, her eyes.
My heartbeat races, my knees felt like melting as I inch towards their not-so-well painted door. I just want to play with her. That’s all. That’s all.
I was stoned stunned as the door creaked slowly open even before I knocked.
I saw her smiling wide green-gray eyes behind a vast masculine figure.
“Go-go–good mor–ning, Si–Sir.”
“Calm down boy, I will not eat you.”
Word count: 180
©2016 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo credit: Sunday Photo Fiction
Sunday Photo Fiction is a weekly writing challenge hosted by Alastair Forbes where a photo is used as a prompt for a piece of fiction using around 200 words. The piece doesn’t have to center around exactly what the photo is, it can be just used as a basis for a story.
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