Thanks to Madison Woods for the photo prompt and Friday Fictioneers to keep us on our writing toes.
Through vicious barbs and twisted wire the sun had the audacity to shine. Marushka licked the dregs of a discarded sardine tin. Her disappointed stomach howled its outrage. She sank down on the stony ground. Stretching her rawboned legs in the dust she longed for silk stockings to hug her once shapely calves.
From her torn pocket she pulled a mirror-shard and glowered at her reflection. Who was this bald hag? Murderer! No! She’d only covered his mouth so they wouldn’t hear.
“24682.” She slashed a trail, long and deep, through the tattooed number to her wrist.
“Mama’s coming, Dovid.”