A short fiction fragment that happened on a Friday:
The ring felt heavy, smooth, and cold. It lay on her palm like a dead weight, gleaming up at her dully. How could she have borne this lump of metal on her finger all these years?
“So, you gonna trade it, or what?” the pawn broker’s voice cawed into her thoughts.
She looked up.
“That’s what I came here for, didn’t I.” The ring clicked on the marble surface of the counter.
“Three silver,” cawed the broker.
“No,” she said, all business now. “I’ll take – that.“