Chapter 5 - The Heirloom of Crust
Behind the barricade of the thin arm, the younger girl stood perfectly still.
She was a smaller, softer replica of the older one.
The same dirty yellow dress.
The same matted dark hair.
The same bare, dust-caked feet.
But her eyes were different.
They were wide, completely dilated, swallowing the harsh sunlight without reflecting any of it back.
She was looking at the silver buckle on Silas's belt.
Her right hand was pulled tight against her own chest.
Her small, grubby fingers were wrapped around a piece of bread.
It was no larger than a silver dollar.
The crust was gray, hard as a river stone, and covered in a fine layer of lint and dirt.
She didn't put it in her mouth.
Her thumb rubbed rhythmically across the uneven surface of the crust.
Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.
It was a grounding mechanism.
A physical tether to something real, something that belonged entirely to her.
If she ate it, it would be gone.
If she held it, it meant tomorrow was still a possibility.
May you like
She squeezed the bread harder, her knuckles turning a stark, translucent white under the dirt.
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