Knowing that he did not have a penny in his tattered pockets, the astrologer told him to
re-invent his fate when Chenappa forcibly proffered his palm.
Chenappa walked towards the rock to recline and ruminate.
News spread like wild fire in the village that the ugly rock had begun to talk.
“How do I make more money?”
“Stop adding impurities to the gold ornaments” thundered the rock.
The goldsmith beat a hasty retreat but not before genuflecting and depositing currency-
notes in the hollow part of the rock.
Chenappa came from his hideout to pick the booty.
Re-invent is the mantra.
Written for : Friday Fictioneers. thanks Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.
click HERE to read all the wonderful FF entries.