I never trusted her.
I watched her carefully; I counted the sacks she drags in the middle of the night.
Five, six, seven, I lost count.
What's inside those wet sacks?
Honestly, I was scared to check that faint trail, even after she's gone.
Night after night I've observed her, she is planning to empty the village.
The kids are disappearing.
My window witnessed her dramatic play.
She has no audience but me.
The village almost empty from her youth, my sister and I are left.
We never go out after seven o'clock.
She is anticipating by my window.
It's a matter of time.
My sister and I were left, and no one will witness our departure.