“Penny for a posy, penny for a posy mum? Penny for a posy.” The little waif danced about the fountain square hawking her wares. A small tattered basket filled with flowers picked from the roadsides. They were gathered into tattered little bundles with equally tattered and dirty bits of string or rag. Star knew she should keep walking, she had to get back to the inn before she was missed. But the dark circles of the child’s eyes beckoned her, she placed a few coins in the girl’s hand and selected a flower from the basket.
Star knew it was a futile gesture, it would improve nothing in the child’s life. Adults would soon rob her of her meager earnings. But, perhaps, she would be able to hide away a penny or two for some supper. There was so much wrong in this city, children starving, families living in filthy hovels scraping by however they could. So much despair, so much hunger, so much … anger. Anger, that was what she felt the most from all around her, it was as if the very streets of the city were angry at the feet that trod them. Star hurried back to the safety of her friends at the Inn, still haunted by that un-named anger.
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Your Friday prompt for Stream of Consciousness Saturday is “rhymes with rosy.” Find a word that rhymes with “rosy” or use the word “rosy” and base your post on it. Enjoy!
Til next time ~Peace ~JPP