Miami 2017

Chapter One-And Life Went On Beyond The Palisades

Nineteen Years Later...

The rabbit was sitting almost unseen in the tall blades, fur and grass alike gently stirred by a whisper of wind. There was a nick in one of its ears, perhaps a scar from a predator's claw, or even a territorial skirmish with one of its own kind; only the rabbit could know. It raised itself up onto powerful hind legs, nose twitching, prepared to flee at a moment's notice, exposing a white belly amid the grey and tan hair covering its lithe body.

Ten feet away, I watched without moving, my stomach pressed into the soft earth, my arms under my chin. The dying sun warmed my skin as it slipped lower and lower in the sky, ready to retire for the night. Insects droned on in the trees at the top of the knoll and a small shadow soared overhead, a hawk playing in the late afternoon breeze.

One ear still raised in vigilance, the rabbit sat itself back down with a soft snuffling noise, before freezing as its beady, black eyes found my blue ones between the swaying fronds. It tensed, muscles contracting, and then swiftly darted away, white tail disappearing into the forest ahead.

I turned onto my back, closing my eyes against the burning sun, and pulled the cloth from my lower face as my necklace rolled along the sharp line of my collarbone. The unfiltered air was sweet and fresh, and I breathed deeply though I knew my mother would not approve. Something small with several legs danced over my bare hand before scuttling into the long grasses, and I stretched out, shaking slightly as my stiff body tightened and then fell limp, sinking into the damp earth. It had rained yesterday for the first time in weeks and the faint smell of autumn was arriving, crisp and cool.

The hungry months were coming. It was the way of the world, an endless cycle of survival, but this year it seemed winter would be a challenge; the question remained as to whether my mother would be strong enough to travel to a warmer climate before the snow fell.

These days, I never roamed too far, not since my mother had fallen from a bench a couple of months ago. The injury had taken a lot out of her, both mentally and psychically, and sometimes I wondered if she had ever really recovered. As the years had worn on and I had grown into my body, she had shrivelled inside hers. It was upsetting to watch.

Underneath her shayla, her hair was grey, some wisps of white occasionally escaping the tight confines of her scarf. Though she clothed the majority of her body, I still sometimes saw the spots on her arms and the protruding veins, or the sharp outlines in her neck. She had asked me if I wanted to wear a headscarf as well when I had turned twelve, but never forced me to cover my hair when I had refused. Either way, we respected each other's choices: I always stayed silent while she prayed and took the few minutes to regard my own beliefs, and she never pressed me to divulge my thoughts.

A whistle sounded, strong and piercing among the chirps of the birds. I opened my eyes, emerging from my lazy dozing. The sun had sunk, hanging heavy and swollen in the scarlet-streaked sky. The breeze had picked up, ruffling my hair. I shielded my eyes from the light and brushed dirt and ants from my clothes, getting to my feet. The whistle came again and I answered with a call of my own before pulling my facecloth over my nose and mouth, following the rabbit into the forest towards the home I had built with my mother so many years ago.

The shrill whistling call echoed through the trees once more, and I sped up as the hut came into view. It was small, not even ten feet by twenty, and had taken months to prepare for and several weeks to actually build. The roof was made of strips of tree bark, trees which I had cut down by hand. The trunks had been shaved, sanded, and then stacked, crisscrossing on the end where notches had been cut to hold them in place—