This is part of a writing challenge at {W}rite-Of-Passage, a community of bloggers who are looking to get back to the writing part of blogging and brainchild of my friend, Mrs. Flinger.  Today’s challenge was to find a person in public and write a story around them.

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"Where's your ticket?" the old woman croaked as she reached out her spotted hand and wiggled her boney fingers, filed razor-sharp and painted the color of congealed blood.

I nudged the children behind me, cleared my throat and replied, "We were told that we could buy tickets at the door."

Her thin lips quivered, as she let out a raspy sigh and replied, "Really?"  Her breath smelled heavily of stale cigarette smoke and, in my mind's eye, I pictured her as one of the flesh-eating trolls my grandmother warned would come after us in our sleep, whenever my twin brother and I refused to eat our vegetables. 

She raised one penciled-eyebrow and licked her lips; imagining me as her next meal, no doubt.

"Well, you were sadly misinformed."

She pushed back from the reception table and I swear, she made a rattling sort of sound, as if she were chained to the chair.  I started to back away, surprised to see that the woman looked MUCH taller than I had imagined and came to the realization that I was indeed terribly wrong -- the woman WAS a very old dragon, trapped in human form.

"I'...uh...um...but..."

I bit my lower lip, knowing that, somehow, this was going to end badly and I scanned the room for an emergency exit.

"Do you have a ticket, or no?"

No, and no craft show was worth being dressed down by a fiery old dragon, right? 

"No, DAMMIT."

The drab gray pashmina fell from her thin shoulders and revealed her long swan-like neck.

"That's okay, Sweetie."

She reached into a pouch which hung from a beautiful gold chain-linked belt that was wrapped around her tiny little waist.

"There is no admittance fee."

She pulled out 4 lollipops and handed them to each of my kids.

"Uh...um...but..."

Then, she handed me a bunch of tickets.

"Also, everyone gets a free raffle ticket, today."

I was going to protest -- there had to be at least a dozen tickets, or more -- but, I stared blankly at her warm smiling eyes and, well, I was ashamed to admit that the old woman wasn't a troll, or dragon at all.

"Besides, I can tell that you're having a really bad day."

She must be a mom.

[Note:  Although, the conversation is a work of fiction, it is loosely based on an incident, IRL, that did indeed, go very badly.  It's all good, though.  She apologized.  I forgave her.  She WAS a mom.]