The Eye of the Beholder

Anna ran a fingertip over the smooth quartzite cabochon in her palm.  Her reflected face looked rounder on the stone’s convex meniscus, her eyes almost protuberant. Flecks of gold, caught in streaks of river-brown, winked in the weakening Sunday afternoon sunlight.  She addressed the taciturn stallholder. “What’s your best price?” she asked, feigning mere half-interest. He surveyed her from behind darkened… Read it