Seneca

Seneca Cooper strolled down the lane, her hands casually in her pockets. Her dark curls swung from side to side as her head turned constantly, taking in all the activity on the street. Glom, the fruit peddler, was yelling his wares as usual, his bright orange hair matching the orange fruits in his hands. Suddenly, he stumbled and dropped an orange. It rolled close to Seneca and disappeared.

An old, hunched over woman with deep wrinkles at the corner of her eyes slunk close to Seneca and pulled her aside. “You’re getting good, little one! Now give me that.” She held out a knarled hand.

“Give you what?” replied Seneca calmly, staring straight ahead. Dharma cackled and pawed at Seneca’s skirt.

“The orange! The orange! Give it to me!” Dharma was hissing now.

Seneca took a hold of Dharma’s arm and twisted it slowly. “What-“she said through clenched teeth- “orange?”