Anjali sat on one of the chairs, shaking with age. She kept her cane to one side and looked at her watch.
As the minute hand crossed 12, two more women, as old, perhaps older – no one really knew because no one was keeping count – sat on the remaining chairs, kept in readiness for them. Anjali picked up her glass – scotch, neat – and the three women cheered.
“Where is the last one buried, do you know?”
“Who cares!”
“The police?”
“Ramu will warn us, don’t worry.”
“Ha ha!” cackled Ruby. “Them lawyers. Let ‘em try taking our lands now…”
Written as part of the Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields. The idea is to write a 100-word story on a photo prompt. You can read the other stories here.
tales of Suchita 
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