Good morning, I am feeling a little draggy this morning. I think the last of the sugar has drained from my system. I know they make Peeps for a variety of holidays these days, but I really only like the yellow ones and I only like them at Easter. I find myself both sad and a bit relieved that they will not be around again for another year. I also think next year I may need to slowly increase my sugar intake before attempting to eat peeps. You really don’t realize how much you’ve really cut sugar out of your diet until the Easter basket arrives. But we are moving on, draggy or not. So, on with Tuesday’s writing Prompt!
This one is interesting. I think I’d like to sit and take my time with this one. I think because of the timer I simply compressed elements of the story into a shorter space just to get the basics down on paper before the time ran out. It feels more like I’m beginning an outline. At least to me.
Tuesday, April 19th: The rains came early that year.
The rains came early that year. It was something I would always remember. The light patter signaling the start of the wet season arrived and it was as if the entire world went into fast forward. Other chores were set aside as there was a mad scramble to get the seeds in the ground. They would need to be planted before the weather turned if we were to hope to have a spring harvest.
Everyone was needed and if felt as though there was no rest. Thinking back it seemed as though one day bled into the other. I could recall no nights, although I am certain there were. I could remember rising with the sun working until every bone and muscle ached and I was so weary I could barely force in my evening meal before closing my eyes for what seemed like a brief blink. Then the process would start again.
I remember the mid-day meals. The baskets of bread, cheese and fruit hauled out to us in the field where a brief pause was given to the work day. We didn’t bother sitting. We would stand, the basket passed round, eating where we stood. The fruits added to the meal were varied, but I remembered the late summer plums the most. I would eat them down to the stone, their flesh almost jammy in taste. Then I would tuck the stone in my pocket, lick the last of the juice from my fingers and get back to work with the others.
Often I forgot to take the stone from my pocket and by the time the last of the planting was through, I had a pocket heavy with the stones. OI planned to empty them out in the back, perhaps ending up with a tree. I never got around to it and they were still in my pocket the night of the fire. I remembered the scent of the smoke tickling my nose before my brother roughly shook me awake.
“Fire,” he said hoarsely as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes with one hand and gripped his trousers with the other. I was moving before my brain registered. While there had been sporadic rains there was still a lot dry around and fire was never something to be ignored. I pulled on my trousers, their pockets still stuffed with plum stones. That day had been the last of out planting, relief and rest looked like they were in sight, at least for a few days. Then we would all resume the tasks we set aside in our efforts to beat the rains. I fastened my trousers and shoved my feet into my boots. I stuffed my arms in the sleeves of my shirt and let it flap around me as I bend to lace my boots.
I was as quick as I could. The scent of the fire was stronger now and I could hear feet running and voices raised outside. The entire house was awake. I left my shirt as it was and raced out of the house, leaving the room my brother and I shared. It was the last time I saw it.
Ten til Midnight 