Fiction

I was already late. I hastened my pace thinking mom would be livid.  I took the turn into the next lane and saw a woman crying.  She was holding something in her hands.  She clutched it like it was some kind of treasure.  The woman didn’t look too old to me, maybe, she was in her late thirties.  She wore a shimmering white robe, and her skin was sickeningly white. Caught in a dilemma, I…