The sound of horse-powered chariots hurdling on the asphalt, the town crier by the junction vociferating the daily reports of the town, This was somewhere based in western Europe during the mid 1800's. A little town with a broad gap between the wealthy and impoverished, there was a family in between, not because they belonged with the middle class indigens but simply because they were the exception of any given society, some call them opportunists, some ingrates. They could be living a conventional life one day, and be carpetrubbers the other.
The town had resources filled to the brink; minerals, lumber, crops and so on, nevertheless everything has a weak point and unfortunately, this town's was water. The most crucial matter, nothing so fundamental. At that time there were even multiple religions portraying water as their god, Potamoi. The nearest source of this essential simplicity was circa twenty eight kilometers away from the small, isolated town and the only limited supply was coming in only to the governor by his chariots. From this criteria people had begun finding other alternatives such as the ceramic water filter with colloidal silver which even served as an anti bacterial storage, or simple rainfall. There were still points where there was lack, and that was always in the majority.
That's when the Hilb's family comes in, with a notorious and quite infamous background, the family barely had shelter at night, all they had to their claim was a tree, without argument the most beautiful in the town , but who would have time to admire a tree while barely surviving their next day. Looking from the outside this pine tree was a masterpiece and a good shed to sleep under, which the family utilized , but there was more to it's avail. The tree had a secret only the family had known, and if they had ever spoken a word of it to another survivor, it would have been their last.
Bristlecone pine, bristlecone pine, bark whiter than cotton, yet a little crack by the midpoint just beneath the first stem. This wasn't a crack, but a foreign piece of bark used to cover a little hollow in the tree that mysteriously smears water out late at night when the soil is cold. This water was much clearer than the batch the governor gets from the distant river, this water was as clear as air itself.
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Scarred Barks
General FictionA story of change. One of the hardest lessons in life is change. Whether it's guilt, anger, love, loss or betrayal, change is never easy. We fight to hold on and we fight to let go.
