The Smouldering Eyes.

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I’d seen her often. Sitting idly. By the side of the road. She had a mysterious aura. She wasn’t dressed poshly but neither was she a beggar. She never said a word. Her eyes spoke of her pain. The neighbours had advised me to stay away. No one told me why. No one seemed to know why.

I felt for her, compassion I like to think. I approached her one night, asked her where her home was, where her family was, where her husband was. She looked up at ‘husband’. I knew I’d struck a chord.

I was so wrong.

The smoulder in her eyes made me back away. She picked up a rock. She bared her teeth at me. Her forehead wrinkled. Her stance became offensive. My hands raised, palms facing her, I assured her I was just trying to help. An incoming car, headlights on, honked loudly. Distracted, I looked at it, only to hear her running away in the dark alley behind.

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The rock lay on the road. She never meant to hurt me. She only wanted to save herself.

From what, I wonder. From whom, I wonder. Why, I wonder.

Graciously Yours!

 

 

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