The man lowered himself to a waiting cushion creaking as if he were a great tree pushed by a violent wind. He nurtured the forgotten fire, nudging the embers to life. As the man’s flames grew so did the number of faces around the fire. Shadows and light danced through the eyes sparkling with life around him. The children’s curiosity twinkling so brightly the stars faded. A silence fell as the man’s words morphed into pictures of the past.
“Long before my grandmother was young the world began to dissolve. It fell rotting piece by piece like the skin off a leper’s face. It began with the seeds. Prepared in laboratories men promised these seeds would end hunger and restore balance. They were seeds of the beautiful future. So we put them into the soil sealing our fate in clean brown earth.”
“The seeds spread like ghosts on a midnight wind, until there was no escape. There were years of plenty as crops sprung from these seeds. Surplus was all man knew. Wheat, grain, ...
... middle of paper ...
... lake following the shoreline dipping his bare feet in the wet sand. He fell into a pattern. His bare feet leaving even spaced holes in the sand behind him. Small rocks dug into the soles of his feet. He took a smooth black rock from the sand and threw in into the water. It skimmed across the surface twice, three times before sinking to the bed of the lake. He reached to pick up another and touched small tracks in the sand. Tiny marks showing proof in the pads of paws and scratch of claws. He traced the tracks with his pointer finger. Feeling the contours of the animals paw. He flowed the tracks until he lost them in the boulders above the lake. Here he stopped and dug down. Seven holes across the area, seven holes deep enough for his fist to rest in the earth. From his pocket, he took hope. He let it fall one by one into the soil. He covered hope in deep brown earth.
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