I now have a blog at: randomthoughts27155.wordpress.com
…
Bright lights…
Sunlight?
And a voice…
I flung off the mouldy blanket I had draped all over myself. That voice was my mother’s, and the sunlight meant that the sun was high, which meant I had probably made my mother do all the chores herself. I rushed out of the room, leaped over the stairs, and all but stumbled into mother, who was gulping down her coffee.
“Jeremiah anderson finnick! I stay up, doing twice the work this poor body was s’pposed too, wat’ring tomatoes, feeding those hungry varmint’s,” She jerked her finger at the barn outside “and when I finally call it a mornin’, you sprawl over the carpet like the hounds o’ hell were after thee! What am I supposed to do with you, boy?”
“Nothing, mother.” I was supposed to water the potatoes, and mend the fences, in case the bandits tried to rob the storehouse for beer. They always robbed for beer, or things to sell for beer.
Mother’s stern face softened. “Have a bite, and after that, go fix the fences. Dem’ hero-bandits don’t got enough decency to fill up a thimble-cup.”
Heroes. The bandits loved calling themselves “heroes”.
“Yes, mother.” Head bowed, I shuffled over to the table, and had a bite of toast. The bandits were always running about, “Questing” or killing all the meat in the forest, and leaving it for the wolves. When they decided to come back, they barged into houses, and took our saved money as “a gift to the heroic defenders”. If we refused, they took our valuables as “artifacts”, to sell to a lucky trader passing by. More than once a brave family would try to fight, only for them to be beaten down, kicked, trampled, because they were “monsters”. Even innocent bystanders got a beating when they passed the bandits in their blood lust.
I sighed, spreading crumbs across the table. Just another day in the godville countryside.