From her small balcony, the witch watched the world go by. She sat in full sight of anyone that happened to pass by.
Her long, unkempt hair rests uneasily upon the grubby shawl that adorns her bent and ungainly form.
Her hooked and crooked nose erupts from her face that is covered in warts and festering pimples.
Her twisted and deformed mouth display just blackened stumps.
She really is an archetypal witch.
She looks down to the street below where a man points to the oncoming traffic and gives a friendly wave.
She scowls as several tour buses pass slowly by. The Guides point to her balcony and the tourists point upwards with startled expressions.
As the last coach disappears she gets up, rips off her wig, spits out her dentures, removes her false nose and reaches for the packet of make-up removal wipes.
Smiling sweetly she recounts her well earned dollars.
Not bad for an hours work.
This is my entry to this weeks Monday’s Finish the Story written in a howling wind from my cabin aboard the Caribbean Princess trying to avoid a storm off the coast of Newfoundland, heading to Halifax, Nova Scotia.