Finally, She Rests

With a large, black skirt and a miserable look on the face, she walked and walked. She tried to remember something. Anything.

She couldn't.

Her back was curved due to her old age and her steps were as slow as that of a child's. Her long, untidy, gray hair fell all the way down to her knees and she was wrapped in a dark linen shawl.

She always held a little brown object in her right hand. Her freckled hand would shake as she pressed firmly on the object. 

As she walked, she would let out moans of exhaustion and desperation that broke people's hearts. She was hungry and sick.

Until one cold night, she let her body drop as she figured she couldn’t move any longer. She knew it was time.

She lay on the ground in front of a shop, peaceful and still.

The brown object still clutched tightly in her hand.