He walked back, the small rocks crunching under his feet and the lips of fish sucking to his fingers, as if they were still alive and able to do even that most simple of things. It was a daily walk, and one he was quite accustomed to. It was a monotonous job, there are only so many times you can make the same three mile journey before you start to get bored of even the most beautiful trees and streams. Of course, he may have been able to appreciate them longer if they hadn't been cut down and irrigated away, respectively.

His calloused feet moved slowly but surely, about a month before he had cut his toe on a piece of glass lurking underneath a pebble. It had been infected and he hadn't been able to work for a couple weeks, but now he could again, and so he walked. He walked and he was happy for this job, this small way to bring home some money and even a fish or two (when he felt like he could sneak it.) Sure, he could have been doing so much more, but sometimes carrying a bunch of fish from the port to the processing factory is enough. Sometimes, this daily hike with rocks between his toes and slimy fingers is enough.

And so he walked.

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emmareadswritesandthinkscritically (joined almost 8 years ago)

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