The Arcadian Eclipse

Episode 1

I took too deep a breath without thinking. I coughed and spit upon the ground precious moisture. Squinting up, I looked at the sky which had particularly black clouds today. The wind kicked up a good amount of the soot-grit that always lay upon the ground and filled my mouth.

I was on my way home from school and still held a notebook under my arm. But I needed water. I stopped by a hydration booth, I couldn't afford the clean kind, so this stand would do. I pulled out a couple of coins and dropped them into the old gnarled hands that cupped open to take them.

The hands belonged to a woman whose brow indicated her old age. She handed me a ceramic mug and nodded. "You've got two minutes."

I looked back, a line had formed. As I took my mug I noticed it was only half full of light brown liquid, and I wished I had the money for a full mug. I glanced at the old woman's wooden cart and noticed the wood had expanded so that it tilted forward. Other than her half-empty jugs, she had three more ceramic cups that which she was filling.

There were two men to the left side of the cart, opposite the line for water. They were gulping down their water.

I had an odd habit, as I drank my water, of taking my time and drinking it slowly – no matter how thirsty I was. It wasn't as if one could drink all the water that one wanted. If you were fortunate, you always had just enough to keep you safe. But you lived thirsty. Always thirsty for more, and I found if I savored it for a little while, for the time after it had wet my lips – I was more satiated.

I was halfway finished. The lady said, "Young man, just a little more time – I need the cup back."

I nodded while noticing a boy across the street. He was staring at me. The dirt street was narrow, and he was only about twelve feet from me, sitting on the ground. His lips were cracked, dry, and brittle from thirst. His tongue flicked over his lips, but I knew that provided no relief. I looked down at my cup and realized his focus was on that and not on me. His face was gaunt and covered in dirt. I felt a pang in me for a boy that could be no older than seven or eight.

The old lady's patience ran out, "Ok, I see ya standing there, not even finishing the water, and people are waiting."

I put my hand up to her, not taking my eyes off of the boy. I felt in my pockets. Empty. No money to buy more water for the boy, and by the grumblings from the line, no time for me to give my half cup to him.

I looked at the old woman, "I'm going to give the rest of my cup to him, to the boy over there." I pointed at him.

She was about to say something when the man at the front of the line – who was waiting for me to hand over my cup for him to drink said, "To hell you are. I've been waiting for you to drink that cup for five minutes and it should've taken two. I'm thirsty, now hand over the cup, take a swig – I'll give you fifteen seconds."

I turned around and used the fifteen seconds to swiftly, but carefully, put the cup down behind me. When I turned back the man was in my face.

"What the fuck are you doing? Putting the cup on the ground. Get out of the fucking way – move."

"No."

He looked surprised at first, and then his face morphed into twisted anger. Brought on by thirst. He took a swing, but I've been in fights, so I ducked and counterpunched. He was not used to getting hit, a fact made obvious by him falling on the ground. I followed him to the ground and kept punching him, he had to be temporarily incapacitated for me to be able to deliver the water to the boy.

The old lady shouted at me, "Leave my stand now! Leave or I will call for the Street Keepers!"

I hesitated at that but hit him one more time as a resolution to myself. I would get the water to the boy.

None of the other ten-odd people in line said a thing as I turned around and carefully took the cup. I strode to the boy who looked delirious as he stared forward even after I beckoned him gently to drink. He registered what it was when I put the cup to his cracked and bleeding lips. His chubby fingers grasped the cup as I held it to his lips. He drank it all in five seconds.

I patted him on the head and walked up to the old lady.

"I have already sent for the Street Keepers. I gave someone free water just to do it." She eyed me for a response.

I smiled at her, then whispered, "They aren't here yet, so as you have already called them..."

I reached forward and grabbed one of her many jugs – the smallest. She yelped. I looked at her and she knew that old as she was – she didn't want to cross my dark mind to stop me.

I declared out loud, "I will bring back money tomorrow for this, my apologies for delaying things for all of you – just one minute more and I will be gone."

Silence. Hatred from all there, all were thirsty and selfish from that thirst.

The thirst is a recurring illness, a disease. It has a way of guiding your thoughts and prayers. After you drink water, you are healed, but hours later the thirst comes back and unless you are rich, and few are, you think of nothing more than water. The disease progresses and your throat dries so that eventually you can think of nothing but how dry and hot the air is against your barren throat. To talk is difficult because of the lack of lubrication for your tongue. You ache for it, you would not eat for it. The boy needed it, because it was obvious looking at him that if he didn't get it, he would soon die.

I walked over with the jug, and he stood up, drinking it so fast that half of the gallon jug was gone in less than a minute. He almost lost his balance and spilled a little as he took a breath. I gently grabbed the jug and he leaned over as if he might throw up as I placed my hand on his shoulder.

"Are you OK?"

He nodded, my signal to give the jug back and get out of here, before the Street Keepers showed up. I paused for just a second. I looked at the jug in my hand and I thirsted. I had only had a taste. But, I looked back at the boy and knew he must get away from here, or it would not go well for him. I held the thirst inside and handed the jug back to the lady.

She said nothing but squinted her eyes in hate taking the jug from me gently, a gesture opposite of her feelings.

I glanced up, pixels of sunlight were fading fast, into a bleak twilight.

The night was coming and the bitter cold with it. The boy appeared more lucid as I grabbed his arm under his shoulder and whispered into his ear.

"We must leave – now."

He silently nodded, again. I took him down the road as those in line stared at me. The old lady was busy with her work. The Street Keepers must have been busy beating someone else because no one seemed to follow me up the hill. I cut through an alleyway that provided a much-needed shortcut from thirsty eyes. It led to a dirt road that would eventually lead to my house – a brisk twenty-minute walk from where we were.

The boy finally spoke, "Don't you hear it?"

I did hear the faint patter of feet upon the concrete alley. They were not running though, and sounded a good fifteen paces back, so I was not alarmed.

I turned my head to look back, and it was the man I had pummeled. I stopped, he was too close to outrun. I immediately stepped in front of the boy, who clung to my waist. I could see in the twilight that he held a metal object. As I had stopped and he was slowly stepping closer, my eyes focused and the object became clear. It was a knife.