fridayfictioneers
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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
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“This is silly.” “Nothing is silly.” “Everything about this is silly! The colours, the jar, the little fountain…seashells? Really? Come on!” “Suchita it is a birthday party…”
tales of Suchita 