by Arecee

“Help me,” the old woman croaked. She reached for my arm with her bony, twisted fingers. Her cracked and ragged nails highlighted by a blue-black accumulation of dirt beneath them.

“Get away,” I said shoving her hand away from my arm. I looked around the small park for someone to protect me. Protect me from an old and obviously feeble woman. I’m not that sick, yet.

“Please help me, mister,” she asked again, the words passed from her leathery lips and cut through me. Her breath tainted the world with the smell of decay.

“Get away crone, take my change and leave,” I said throwing a handful of coins at her feet.