Young Indi wore black.
She stood silent and refused to cry.
She held dozen’s of medals to her chest that were once Hank’s, but now were hers; he had left them for her. She also clutched a small note in her hand entailing how he knew she had earned them when she bothered to listen to him. He called her an old soul.
His wife hugged her, saying the same words of her soul and it’s apparent oldness.
“What does that mean?” She asked, her voice hollow and monotone.
“You understand the world, really understand” The women dotted her face with a handkerchief and smoothed down her rather long white locks.
She nodded and that was when the small town of Flawe received its first drop of rain in nine years.
YOU ARE READING
Atticus and Indi.
EspiritualIndi is an atheist, vegetarian ; who orders chocolate milk from a juice bar every Wednesday. Four minutes later, she sits in a confessional sipping her milk that has been placed into a juice cup and talks of her life. On the other side of the scree...
