Storm Weaver 2 -100 word story

continued from October 24 post

The old man held out the pouch in the palm of his crooked hand,
“Take it.”
“I’m giving it to you.”
A simple reason.
The leather pouch was tightly closed.
Did I dare open the strings?
The sun warmed my face,
Poured over wet pavement,
Washed away all trace of cold.
Everything shined on a new day.
The old man smiled, knowing I couldn’t resist, but he gave no permission.
Still, I went ahead and worked my fingers under the string,
Undoing his labor.
Slowly, the mouth of the bag opened.
I peeked inside then looked up.
He vanished.

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