A Shell of Fetus (Working title)

1- Dragged Out

'...Blessed be the mystics if I ever get you, pal.'

Pariksh pretended he didn't heard that. He always pretends to not hear anything his roommate says, but his soul always croaks, I've to move my arse to feed my mouth, and you just don't.

'You even listening to me?' he asked again in a snorting voice, Pariksh again pretended. The roommate dunked back into his blanket to an all too cosy sleep. Pariksh's bed was facing his roommate's on the opposite side, where both of the beds touched the grainy wall of the room on either side, leaving a meagre distance. It wasn't a bad place to live, but Pariksh could feel himself choking whenever he has to share the room with a new person. He could have paid for the entire room, if only his expenses weren't strained by a block-sized shed that had to justify for a barn on the side of the small home.

He'd woken up early, took his bath, tipped the teats of his two cows who gave the fresh cream milk with some hesitation. He then realised what the trouble was. Damn calves do eat a lot.

Everything was falling into place except of an anonymous snowfall outdoor that would try to freeze his body into a charred piece of bark, much so like it did to that lizard hanging amidst the webbing on the edge of the barn. He then took another bath, nerve wrecking was this one once he realised he ran out of stove fuel. Why does it always run out this quick?

He returned back to the room to pay his heeds to "the Mystical Trench", which wasn't anything more than his rather straight finger dipped into a block of mud that had created a rill instead of a trench, with three small holes poked by a twig on the either side of it that he had kept beside his bed.

The Mystic of Serenity, you sway upon the souls of Distressed to brace the Nonchalant... He kept murmuring the words, but he had to clench his eyelids tight to keep his mind from being unsettled by the raging winds outside. I'm already getting late, he couldn't help thinking.

He realized the moment he stepped out with his handcart that it was just few gusts short to be a blizzard. Thick fog had clouded most of the view, and even if anything was visible, it was all shimmering with snow. He had a thick shawl stretching from his back tied to his legs. It was filled with enough holes to create an ant colony, though he had stitched stripes and patches of jute where it looked too embarrassing. They were supposed to keep him warm, but he couldn't help his urge to tear off his armpits that the patches were scratching all of the time. Nonetheless, he did felt lucky to have his boots repaired back in time. If only he had some extra saved to buy himself a nice warm coat.

He tightly clutched the bars of the cart from within his shawl, yet found the cold shooting back at the joints of his fingers. Dren was right, for once. Just don't let thing linger for long. Faraway in distance he assumed it was the Kabali Mountains that shone whiter against the snow spurting sky. It could even mean that the surface of Ket Ocean must also be freezing like a pane of foggy glass. There comes two weeks in a year that throws Karbar and the nearby village into a climate with exceedingly opposite condition. What were the odds of facing something this fierce? Cold was expected, but the storms were not anticipated. Maybe I should return back to my-

'No!' he snapped. He had taken a leave and lost two of his precious customer the following day. Be it the storms or hunters lurking inside its mist, they couldn't be worse than a fatigued body craving for some food. For him, every problem and struggle ended up at the roots of only one thing- hunger. Why did the mystics even created hunger? Why not have a thing to eat for a day, and then to never feel the need to quench that hunger? Wouldn't that just solve almost every problem? He shook his head and pulled the cart to move forward before his own thoughts begin to terrify him.

It was a long way made longer with heaps of snow more or less touching his knees. He exhaled heavily after a few strides, fearing that the snow will get his body like the muddy bogs that are all too frequent during rains. But he had to move, and move fast if he wants to survive. He mustered up all the strength he could and began to thrust it all on his pulling. After covering a considerable length, he found his lungs ridden with dry coughs instead of air.