Role

Chapter 2

The winter wind had a bite to it that morning, and I alternated
between rubbing my hands together and shoving them into my armpits.
I wore everything I owned and had thrown a blanket around my shoulders
too, but it was a dull, bleak day and nowhere in my journey did I
see a squirrel or rabbit, and the few birds I saw winged quietly away.

The problem with being ten winters old is that you only remember six
winters, and in my case, the sixth was the worst. War, and the fire
and hungry soldiers that come with it, had taken our meagre stores
and left us with an iron kettle filled with water, grass, and whatever
real food we could find. An egg, or better yet a greasy rabbit, was like
a gift from the gods.

The hunger the war created made my work hard, but the winter cold made it
that much harder. I used our adze to hack at the earth for the first
hour, but when the handle broke, I used the stone head to scrape the
rocky dirt loose and then shoveled it out with my hands. Four hours
later, it was barely deep enough, but I had nothing left.

The sun was well past midday when I stood over her grave. I had no
flowers to place there, and so I gave her the only gift I could.
She had always liked my singing, so I sent her into the hereafter
where she would never have to cough again.