You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.”
((How do you respond?))
Wind flowing harshly through her delicate, thin hair, eagerly she sat down to save herself from being swept away by the storm. Her nose resembled a wild bunny at the elderly's outburst, how did she know of her? Exhaling out through her nostrils, declaring to herself to keep her mouth shut; who was she to think that she'd tell a stranger her life story? Flinching in her seat at the sudden feeling of sizzling flesh on her fingertip, the candle! Who in their right mind would have candles in a tent? Then as the silence carried on, the old woman insisted for the younger one to speak. "I came from the slums Miss...? Mrs?" her tongue caged the roof of her mouth in silence afterwards, the awkwardness and tension was rising as the elderly did not speak any words. Seeing how this was going to continue, the nineteen-year-old began, "I'm travelling to find more about myself. I seek friends and a loving family. A place to call home." As if time drifted away from the two in the dimly lit tent, her story was now not a secret.
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