Darkened blue hanged overhead above the stretched plains. Permeating and colliding with the yellow and orange haze that painted the cloud faces closest to the disappearing sun. Falling down, lingering its light and vigor upon the cold, frosty earth. Shedding its power to show one last beauty of red and yellow spills before it drowned for the night, and in the night, darkness prevails before it reappeared again renewed and analeptic, basking the lands in its season of warmth.
Damp and stiff in heart, an empty sling over her spent shoulder to a knot that didn't dig as deep into her back as it did before. A woven basket held up by her bending spine and her toughened hands, heavy with the contents inside. No matter how tough her hands were made to be, it wouldn't give the strength she needed. Carrying it back to the house.
Leaning back to alleviate the load, resting it on her stomach. Occasionally jolting it up higher to give a brief rest to her shoulder and arms. Carrying it for a few more meters before dropping it down on the street she was on.
Unlike before when she walked past in the day, filled with people expressing, talking, bustling. It had turned quiet with the decay of sunshine. Burning flames jittered on the sides of the path, parties of people waiting near fires, patient for their ending meal of the day. From their uncaring loudness to the calmness matching the night. Matching the others they lived near, copying and replicating. It's nature to do what the majority did, to be influenced. And in the growing dark, it's natural to be calm and at peace like the rest to ease themselves to sleep for another day.
Picking up the basket, moved away. Past the conversations and cracking of the street to different sets as she turned and walked. Even with the tranquility, the streets were too open and packed to not catch some noise here or there. Coming in as murmurs and low chants. Of course, not everyone stuck to imaginary rules.
On the final distance, the final turn before the building. And with it - quiet, peaceful, sombre - a boy met her opaque eyes. And with it, a smile was brought from his face. Replicate, she couldn't manage. Dragging her body over, a tiny child sat hugging his tucked knees looking at her. A short, unshowing disappointing check before he looked away, dejected but his passion never fleeted, a innocent smile kept at his mouth. It stuck to him like a curse. And she sees it. Pausing by the dead campfire, speaking in a hush pass the ashfilled pit, though dry lips and a sapless throat.
"Go wash yourself."
A small wave hit the boy, just like before in the same volume of excitment and joy.
"Okay!" Spoken through a cheeky grin
A need he unconsciously wanted, and with each plain action he would find himself with something special. It was... unneeded.
Watching over him as he shot up. Sparkling in feverishness pulled open the front door, Marie following in suit. Holding it open, turned back to see where his mother was, only letting go off the door when he saw her hand grace upon it to hold it herself. Going to the water bucket as he was told.
Entering after the small child, placed the basket on the table against the back wall. Unpacking, took out their dinner. Two, wrapped in paper with pinkish red soaking through, ends bending as she picked the wappings feeling them squish down upon her fingers and thumb. The main of today. And the rest, ordinary but balanced, more potatoes, some tomatos, onions, turnips and even some fruit which she all took out. Storing them in their respective bowls on the kitchen table. Keeping a pile for current use. Getting and cleaning anything she needed as the child readied himself for a wash inside.
And in her beaten state, arms aching from the carrying and skinny legs lightly twitching from a day long walking and standing around. Took off the tied rag and tossed it to the floor next to the wall. She couldn't be bothered to untied it now.
Slidding over the cutting board dried from the morning it's time for the next task. More work... Marie wasn't pleased, even dreading doing it. Eating had no appeal to her and she would rather lay down then cook. Wanting a slither of time for herself to enjoy something she likes, indulge in what she wanted. Though it has to be done. If not her then who else.
She liked cooking before, the feeling of achievement was nice but today. Now. There's not much feeling.
Pushing through, peeled and diced like she was taught when younger. Fingers safely hidden away from the dangerous blade in habit, steady to cut but her movements lacked the smoothness and firmness she used to have a long while ago. Even using a knife with less than ideal sharpness, it shouldn't have caused her such difficulty to cut some meagre vegetables, but it did. Her blade continuesly caught and halted as she tried to push down on the handle; the pool of juices going against her cut. Causing her hands slippling off, unable to hold a firm grip with her rigid fingers. Held item sliding on the cutting board, disrupting her already tough task of chopping. The complete opposite of fun and infact annoying, the displeasure showing out her face.
She needed to focus but in her condition it was near impossible to focus. Which only made it more annoying as she actively attempted to keep concentrated. Her body fatigued from scalp to toe, her arms mustering all the strength she would need to slice what she needed. Even leaning over to exert more weight onto the cut and even then, her sliced portions weren't right and the blade continued to get stuck. Infuriating her even more. It was a simple task, even easy and she couldn't do it. Her annoyance edging closer to anger each time she was caught and stuck in a rut. Drawing more force from her languid body and arms that she could squeeze out, leading to nowhere further than now. Her body wasn't cooperating. Feeling the inactivity in her body and its inability to listening to herself only made her try harder to get something, get anything at all but it just wouldn't happen.
She was in no state to exert herself but in her irrated mood she couldn't think to stop. Even when the prickly pain in her head reshowed itself, she kept at it. The work getting more and more difficult as she moved from one vegetable to another. All she needed was to push to cut by moving her arms and yet, her movements were weak and pathetic. There was no use in grabbing the last pieces of strength inside herself, everything she presented now was all she currently had to show. She was weak and it was clear, but she wouldn't accept.
Marie has spirit. It has been everything she has ever needed. She's had it since she was small. From a child to the point of being a skinny teenage and to a young adult to the present she was at now. It will be all she needed and she has it now. So she wasn't weak. Or pathetic. Or an idiot.
But everything was so draining and she couldn't keep up. But she will forever continue to fight, fight the harsh fight and overcome the murky that came her way but now, she couldn't even win against some vegetables. It was infuriating.
Why must things be so gruelingly hard for her when she hasn't done wrong, or anything at all. From her birth to the orphanage, to the work as a maid and to the now, right here with a small knife held in her feeble hands unable to cut vegetables. It was unfair, it's disheartening. But fairness is a luxury few can buy.
All the harshness she had expirenced, why isn't it enough, why is it still coming. Why must everything be so difficult.
Intent on finishing the task, Marie had unknowingly split her lips apart. Teeth showing through the small opening and almost ready to clench as her muscles tightened on her dry skin. Ears twitching as a result of her fanning strength into her uncontrollable scowl. And in anger, her job lightened up slightly.
Imbuing resentment into strength had lessened the difficulty, even if it made her head buzz more intently, even if it shut off her senses or made it evermore dangerous. It was worth, if she could do something, anything at all. Until the knife dug into her skin wiping the scowl from her face like it never existed.
Reeling back and releasing the blade instantaneously from her clutches with a miffed yelp.
Gripping her fingers with her hand as the blood of the nick on her middle knuckle, mixed with the acid blood of vegitables. Only making it worse whilst she applied more pressure on her wounded finger. Eyes turning glossy as she held both hands to her stomach. Waiting a moment before letting go to see the injury. Surrounded by silence and the many discomforts inside herself, with candlesticks and cold walls that caged her. Coldness and the leaving heat of her body followed her as she peeked at the wound.
A webbing of blood imprinted on her skins contours and a flap of skin unlatched from her delicate flesh. Marie winced at the sight but it wasn't as bad as she thought or felt.
On the other corner of the one roomed building. A newly filled basin of water with his towel submerged inside. Clothes fully off and crouched, took up the towel and strained it the best he could before the pain in his stretching skin overcame his leasure will. Making sure the expelled water was caught by his bucket before unfolding it and scrubbing it over himself. The cold sensation made him irresistibly shiver. Rubbing his skin until he felt clean when suddenly, a noise made him pause, like that of a quivering blade.
Facing the noise, the back of his mother and some of her side in view. Unknowing to what happened, he simply watched her. Staring at her back, her hands hidden from view and her arms down, the bash of knife to cutting board had stopped altogether after the sudden noise, deducting that something wrong was amiss.
He knew the sound came from his mother. Her staying still in the moment reinforced his idea but what could he do.
Not knowing how to help he waited until Marie made an action.
Staying motionless until Marie started moving towards him, making him a little surprised but he didn't show it. Resuming to washing himself after quickly looking away to not make his mother believe he was staring. Taking short looks as she walked over.
Seeing his mother with both her hands tightly knitted together and a look of pain on her face, something was definently wrong. Worry crossing his mind but he didn't know what to possibly do or say to his mother. So he silently wet his towel and strained it again.
Marie took up a small cup of water, ignoring the peeks of the child cleaned her wound outside. Its gotten annoyingly cold now. The air was slightly frosty and the wind carried a speck of ice. Or it was what Marie felt, being so tired her body wasn't in shape to produce much heat. The cold was hard to combat.
After washing away the blood quickly entered back inside to leave the harsh element although it wasn't any warmer inbetween walls. No heat source inside and walls that couldn't stop the invisible chill, the interior was just as cold as the outside. Marie obviously doesn't have the currency to a buy a fireplace no matter how much she wanted one.
From the old shelf, Marie unsealed a tub of greyish medical spread. She took some up with her finger and lightly rubbed it around her cut before ripping some rolled, thin cloth and wrapped it around the injury. Using her teeth to help tighten the knot.
Squeezing her finger to familiarise herself with the new found pain until she reached the chopping block again. Already picking up the knife and getting to work on the vegetables.
Pulling his head through his shirt and guiding his arms pass the sleeves and cuffs, cleaned up the space and sat quickly on his bed. Silently watching as his mother chop up their late dinner. Mostly gazing at her back and long hair with an innocent face, it seems his mother had taken care of the problem and so, she would be fine and so would he.
Sitting for a minute or two before getting up again, walked from his bed at the back corner of the home to the other corner, left to the door out. The resting place of sticks and lumber, fuel for the campfire, and a dense pile of dried grass nearby on the floor.
In a large woven basket lay a plentiful amount of unorganised sticks and twigs. He picked some up into his soft hands and carried them out before dumping them all into the soon-to-be-lit circle of stone. Pinching some dry flame starter and took up a lonely stick from the campfire.
Drawing circles in the middle of the pile creating a small dent he was content with, gently layed the hay into the divot. Rearranging its placement until it was fluffed.
Seeing it right, he was ready to catch a flame. Looking around, not many swirling fires jittered out on the street anymore. The night had dragged on long enough mostly everyone had finished eating their dinner and ready to sleep if not already. But some still stayed up, close to their blazing flames taking in the ashy heat. Protection agaist the cold and something he would really like. The chills seeping closer to his core the longer he stayed unshielded, wanting him to chattering his teeth.
The closest flame to catch, it was across the street. Same pipe in hand, huffing in smoke just to exhale it back out into the far-away sky. A clump of trailing gas exits his lips in a upward river, caught by the breeze.
His very own hot, blooming fire infront on him, the biggest fire around in fact. It was extremely clear that this flame was larger than the rest, extra warm and lightning up the surroundings like an expensive lanturn.
Strolling over. If he closed his eyes, he could tell this gluttonious flame apart from a line up of hundreds just by sound alone. Its intense roar was unmatched.
Stopping a good distance away from the fire, the warmth on his cloths and skin invited him to enjoy the swaying red but any closer and the heat wouldn't be very welcoming.
There was no fear as he walked up, and no need to be scared to ask. He had borrowed times before, from the old man and others so hesitation had been lost. It was basically a daily occurrence.
In a childish voice, suitable to that of a growing boy. Vibrant and confident, asking in a selected volume louder than the crackling inferno causing him to slighly elevate his pitch.
"Fire please."
Holding his stick up for display and a natural smile on his face. Looking at the held up stick and back to the old man.
***
The elder, idle in his chair with his back completely leaning on the back rest. A bowl of sun bleached herds still on his thigh, reaching out to grab another pinch. Looking at the incoming child as he inserted it to the end of his carved wood. His heavy eyes only just above the highest peak of sweltering fire in the child's perspective. Looking down for the kid, stretching his aged body to grab a stick extending out the small bonfire - a harmless pop from his spine -. Its end now a charred cracking of bright embers, pressed it onto his precious herbs instantly igniting as the heat rapidly spread. Smoke levitating off the dead plants, about to inhale it through the pipe until someone spoke to him. The elder had expected the ask.
"Go ahead." Softly spoken, as well as his decaying throat could and loud enough to bypast the noisy fire.
A voice fitting for someone of his looks. Not exactly comforting but to the child, he felt he could confide in the sound.
Returning the smoking stick to its place, took in a lengthy huff of the pipe. A moment before a surge of gas quietly exited his nose, followed by a big rush of widening smoke from his agape mouth. A rising cloud of purple hue obstructed the view to his wrinkled face. Although nobody was looking at him anymore.
Getting down low, away from the ascending heat, used his personal branch to catch a flaming fire starter. Unlike his own campfire, the man has created a curved hole for his fire to reside in.
Poking around to find a suitable lighter, quick to beat around the flaming wood and quick to hide his hand. Lingering in the heat would not be a nice experience. A sensation which would most definitely make him tear up. Searching for one that could safely be held without burning himself with its glowing ash.
One, sticking out from the buring pile and ready to be cluched. Dragged the lit stick up the dirt indent and out from the dangerous heat. Pulling it an acceptable distance away before hastily picking it up with its cooler end.
"Thanks!"
Walking back, swinging the newly found hot stick in the air, drawing with the smokey tip.
Another puff of purple tinge as the child walked away. Taking his eyes off the kid to admire the speckled nightsky.
Pressing the hot point onto the hay, fire was fast to appear and he was fast on the uptake. Speedy to cover the miniscule flame so it grew from a flare to a true heater from the wonderous fuel.
Waiting till the twigs begun litting up and a physical, waving flame appeared engulfing the branches. Going back inside to get the powerhouse. Wood. True moistureless lumber. A stack of it by the corner, one on top of the other a little higher than his shoulders. Shaped to a square but from frequent usage, its top has been dropped to a diagonal.
Carefully planting the chopped logs into the campfire, sat down close by. Embraced by the flourishing heat and shielded from the cold. He felt tired. It has been a long day and the warmth was really sedative. Legs tucked and his cheek resting on his knee studying the fire. Eyes somewhat irritated by the hotness but it was strangely lulling.
A short while before his mother came out. A pot in one hand and a pan in the other. Since the pan was too heavy to hold with just one arm, she used the back of her other, holding the pot while assisting.
Settled on the floor, face towards the fire, colours dancing on his face. Eyes shut in its nuzzling care with breathes slow and steady. He had fallen asleep on his tucked knees, arms holding himself together.
Placing the pot and pan down, shifting the tinder until they lay flat. Everything has been prepared, the oil, vegetables, meat, all in the cooking pan and pot. All that needed now was to patiently wait.
Marie sat, tucking in her knees. An unfocused gaze at the spitting oil and crackling flame. Monitoring as the veggies change colour and meat turn golden brown.
The child, hearing the pops and hisses slowly awoken from his little nap. Smelling the drifting scent, the food was close to being done. It looks nice.
His attention grabbed when Marie came out again. This time holding two plates. She passed one onto the child.
Picking his hands up, he attentively received the wooden plates into his soft hands. He didn't want to drop them.
He had stayed quiet, not even thanking her and he didn't know why. Maybe he was too woozy but his state was lucid due to his hunger when exposed to food. Roused to consume and satuate.
A fork lay on the plate and following Marie, began picking up pieces onto his own platter. Potatoes from the pot and vegetables from the pan. He would take the slab of meat last as it would be difficult to pick up, learned from previous expirences. But Marie picked up both the slices of meat onto her plate.
He was startled, and disappointed but refused to let it show, even if he was unable to stop it from showing on his face. Not thinking of uttering a word in reproach. He didn't feel wronged, instead, he felt gratitude. As much gratefulness a inexperienced kid could.
He had seen hunger, starvation and desperation at places. Where the curvature of bones showed on skin and the emptiness expressed itself out their eyes.
He didn't like it, he had avoided the area ever since he first found it wondering around. The holes that stared at him as he walked past. The blank slate which paled under the sun, thin liped and skin unnaturally tight against their hard insides.
Bodies motionless as they sat under the heat with shadows light on the ground like they were fading. everyone he could see was leaning on something, with hands down low either touching the floor or loosely placed on their legs. Their bony bodies made any clothes on look baggy.
Emotionless eyes followed him as he walked, their faces unmoving but he felt like eyes were latching onto him where-ever he went. The hideous desperately rubbing onto him just by being near. The inactivity of people in the secluded place, quiet, ruefully so, and sticky, when it was so open. No one walked and there was no one else there beside the still residents, and unfortunately him then.
Forgetting the meat, he would rather focus on the meal infront of him. Stabbing a chunk and ready to bring it to his mouth, forgetting the skeletons that weren't pleasant to think about when suddenly, Marie brought her plate over to his. Transferring the brown meat to his plate. And strangely, the slab had been cut into bite sized pieces.
Unexpecting the grant nearly dropped his entire plate due to the change in weight. A delighted smile shot to his face, a toothy smile which he showed to Marie.
Marie hasn't done this before and he was delighted. Because it was different, and different meant something.
Marie carried on with consuming her meal, not paying attention. And so, he did the same, chewing on the tough chunks.
Sharing a warm flame, together in its embracing hold as they stayed in the dark. A full littering of distant lights in the black sky that they sat under. A vibrant display from the cheerful campfire waltzing around within reach. He felt warm inside, not from the flame but something else entirely. Secretly wishing for it to last.