That Day

My father sent me on an errand that day, the day I came back to find him dead. A certain uneasiness swept over me as he told me go. I knew something was off, but I respected his word. I saw in his eyes he knew he was in trouble. There must have been a reason he could not have me by his side for this fight. Perhaps to save my life, I painfully wondered after his death.

The morning was misty as I began my walk to the gathering. I was on my way to the village market to trade for next month's necessities. I pulled a small cart of curried meat and forest nuts down the rocky path. The mist covered my cloudy eyes as I looked back to see my father for the last time. The air felt different in the village and it was not my nervousness. I felt more eyes on me than normal. I tried to hurry my trading.

I pulled the cart along a little faster on my way back. Something told me father was going to be in danger. I knew he wanted me away, but instinct pulled me back. I was only a few minutes out when I heard that fatal gunshot. I dropped everything and ran, thinking just enough to take a secret path home. I scurried up the hill behind our house, quietly slipping on rocks and muddying up my leggings.

I caught my breath and looked down to see my father lying in the threshold of our home. I looked to see if any of the culprits were still around before jumping down. I dashed to his side and saw the blood already forming a small pool. I was too late. Why did he have to send me away? It started to rain as my eyes burned from hidden tears.