In the village, there was a hill. It was a rather tall hill that overlooked the entire village. And it was only considered a hill because all the mountains called it one.
On top of the hill sat a small wooden chair. And on top of the chair sat a small brownish-pink lady. The small lady had on a maroon dress covered in dust and dirt. She sat cross-legged fitting just right on the chair. And a sour expression was fixed upon her face. He lips we pursed in such a way that the wrinkles that encased her lips seemed to be pursed as well. Continue reading “Chiman and the small woman”