Sagas, Scenic, Short story, Weekend

A thirst.

It is so unimportant a thing when looking at the world. But without this little bucket there would be nothing to nourish my world.

Each day I take it with me, to home, to garden, to well. To drink that soft cool water as I wake and lay myself down in bed and to give all that I grow the lifeblood it so sorely needs.

We have not had a drop of rain for weeks or months. I cannot even recall anymore that smell of falling rain on parched earth which fills the air around. Only that I miss its softening of the air and the chill that it brings.

You can smell it in the air, that much I recall. A scent that announces its coming, a breeze that calms and soothes, letting the world know that its thirst will be slaked so very soon.

The dawn arrives to claim the world from darkness before it will be chased away at dusk once more. I raise and drink of that sweet water as I take the bucket in hand.

To the well I go, walking with that light but avoiding the heat it will bring. Another day of scorching heat in the relentless assault of day.

I knot my bucket thrice on the rope of the well in its shade. I cannot afford to lose this most valuable thing of mine. As I lower it down the deep dark hole, I look around at my surroundings. Dried grass and brown plants, even the branches break from above being baked by the remorseless sun.

The splash of the bucket hitting the water below brings my focus back to the task at hand as I start to pull the lifeblood of earth from deep below the ground. As every other day now, I will ensure the life of my food and this life of my own.

I will hide my well from prying eyes and travelers and take this bucket with me. And look away from nightmares and hope not only that I keep my bucket safe, but that when I raise it from the well, that nothing tries to pull it back down.

 

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