Foot prints (true story)

The house had no floor, the table stood in sand, there was no lamp.
She was one of the witches that tried to survive in the days before old people got money from the state.
She looked at me with kind eyes.
I came door to door to collect money and she had none, I know now.
Outside the other children were waiting, they were convinced she would kill me.
“Don’t you think I am a witch?” she asked.
“I do not believe in fairy tales. There are no witches. You are a woman.”
“Good.” She looked outside. “Stupid breed. Their genes are feeble. When they came for the horses, a man got shot because he didn’t want to give his horse to the Germans. When they came for the Jews, nobody did anything. They took every Jew from the island.”
“My mother told me this already. She was also angry because of that.”
“She is not from here. She is from a ship. I was from a ship. People like us never root.”
I looked at her bare feet in the sand.
“You need a floor.”
“I don’t care. It means nothing to me. Not anymore.” She gave me some brandy that burnt in my throat.
“Come again if you like,” she said. “I don’t get much company.”
I promised to come back.
I never did. Her house was demolished some years after her death. When I walked there recently, I noticed footprints where once her living room was, just before the wind blew them over with sand.


Comments on: "Foot prints (true story)" (10)

  1. Captivating tale Ina. I bet you regret not returning to visit her.

  2. Stranger than fiction!

    A very haunting image Ina.

  3. Atmospheric.

  4. Such a sad story.

    It will stay with me


    • Hi David

      her nick name was the “Boskat” (cat from the forrest) . I am glad old people are taken care of a lot better now.

      {{{{ David }}} hugs to you too

  5. So powerful and moving – melting in your words…

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