All Just a Cost.

Chapter 1

-"I once believed what lay beyond the horizon was nothing but a wasteland."

                  His fingertips brushed across the tabletop. Flaring his nostrils slightly as he sniffed the dusty air, and proceeded to cough. "Sit down, boy." a familiar voice spoke out to him. Lying his head down low, he proceeded to scoot himself slowly into his chair, making an effort not to break the whittled-down legs. He gazed up at the ceiling, staring for a while, simply thinking. He listened to the water dripping from the sink. Not much was left, at this point. The hot, muggy air surrounded him, though it had been like this for months now. Where would they find water now? He wondered. Glancing out of the window, the dead fields seemed to stretch on forever. He was broken out of his trance when his mother placed some bread in front of him. "Eat," she demanded of him. His head lowered in sadness. He felt guilty, eating bread that she could be saving for herself. Trying to take a small bite so they could share, the bread crumbled in his mouth, almost like he had taken a bite of a chunk of ash. His mouth became dry, but he continued on. He didn't want to continue eating, but he knew Mother would become angry if he didn't. "Eat up," her voice pierced his ears, "We have a busy day n' the fields," she continued. He slowly nodded, finishing the piece of bread. 

He pulled himself off of the chair he had been on, letting his arms heave himself up. His legs were weak, but he paid no mind. Suddenly he felt a pressure on his arm, and looking over he could see that Mother was gripping his arm tightly, and she began to pull him along. Together, they walked along the beaten path of dirt, light footsteps could be heard as they drew further away from that shoddy wooden hut they called their home. Taking one more glance around, he recalled the everlasting wastes of dunes that surrounded him. Mother carried on, dragging his small frame behind her. The sun was beating down on them, and they hadn't made it back to the village yet. He felt beads of sweat form on his head, and his eyes became heavy. The two came upon a sign, depicting directions, and information on certain locations. Mother had stopped to stare at the sign before continuing down the dirt path. The walk seemingly lasting forever was wearing his legs thin. After some more walking and time had passed, they finally happen upon a small, dainty little village that was nestled in these desolate wastes. 

They proceeded into a small hut made of straw. The structure itself was quite frail, yet it had held those walls up for years. Walking up to a table, Mother proceeded to browse through the slips of paper lying on the surface. Picking up two pieces, she handed one to him. Staring at the slip, he tried to recall where the location pinpointed on it was. Turning to the board on the wall, he stared at the map, glancing at his paper slip, and then back up to the map. He had turned back to the table, only to see that Mother had already left for her job. Glancing once more at the slip, he sighed when he noticed his job for today was working in the mines. 

Practically dragging himself, he treaded towards the mines, and grabbed a pickaxe. He could hear noises coming from inside, of other people working in the mine. He walked through the mine until he found his designated area to mine at. Having the pickaxe behind him, he gathered up as much strength as he could to swing the tool down onto the rock. He repeated this process once more. As he had worked, the noise of clinking pickaxes against rock filled the mine. Men and boys were hard at work, simply trying to sustain the village. 

Time had passed on as the day grew weary. The sun had begun to slip away behind the horizon, and that meant he could finally go home. His arms had become sore, but once again Mother showed up to take him where he would have to go next. Returning to the straw hut, their hard efforts were rewarded with a measly amount of bread, barely enough to fit for one meal. The walk back home was just as grueling as the walk to the village. Mother had made it back home, however, with him in tow. 

 Tossing the bread into the pantry, she sat down at a table and began writing for the night, signalling with her hand for him to go to bed. Walking into his room, he ran his hand over the tattered sheet that covered the floor upon which he slept. He laid down on his side curled into a ball, and with sore arms and heavy eyes, simply went to sleep. Simply went to a different world, all in his head.