Every Mickle
The local Farmers’ Bank went belly up.
It was a cooperative concern, like many in the region. The Secretary of the Bank had taken a loan in her late husband’s name on forged documents. Almost all the staffers either embezzled or connived with the defalcators.
Investors, most of them traders and peasants, were shell-shocked. Some blamed themselves for their imprudence while others huddled indecisively.
Kali, the old woman who sold candles, also had a deposit in the bank.
As the bank’s director exited from his car, she confronted him.
“Where’s my money?” Kali yelled, catching the man by his collar.
From Guest Contributor Sathyajith Panachikal
Sathyajith. P.S has reconciled himself to the reality that it is impossible to be reborn in an ancient past with a smartphone and internet connection. Currently, he is trying in real earnest to regain the originality he had when he first chanced upon this planet.
Please support the site by purchasing one of my books on Amazon. Check out Quitting The Grave, a murder mystery set on the Oregon Trail. Plus, don't forget my other books: They Both Loved Vonnegut, Ahab's Adventures in Wonderland, and Picasso Painted Dinosaurs.