Biting The Bullet

Chapter 8

Observing the raindrops fall was as fun as watching paint dry. Only in this case the paint would never dry. 

At first the natural white noise was soothing. While they lived in the countryside, it wasn't every day they got to roam around outdoors. She took this as a chance to slow down and appreciate the environment.

Yet afterwards it became as jarring and unwanted as the background noise in low-quality audios. She yearned for variety. For a change of melody. A hissing radiator would do, or, even better, a real radiator by her feet sending snug waves of warmth.

She stifled a yawn. Watching grass grow might have been even more enjoyable. Imagine the sense of reward from distinguishing a single millimetre of plant growth! It sounded more appealing than staring into a recurring, never-ending foggy picture with streaks.

When she shifted more soil stuck to her, but it could be easily brushed off. It was more of the stickiness from sweat and partly from the damp soil that was bothersome. The problem was, bathing after the rain equalled bathing in a pool of mud. Sediments, swept up from the riverbed, were mixed with the crystalline water much like fruits in a smoothie blender. In other words, no clean water supply until the purity returned to normal.

From the way he was rolling from side to side, George looked as if he couldn't care less about the dirt. In the process he brushed against Kassidy's arm.

"Don't put too much pressure on your wound," she said.

"I won't," he replied.

"Be careful not to knock the whole thing down." She eyed the lateral "walls".

"I'm very careful," he said. Having tested various postures, he chose to rest on his stomach.

The sky had darkened by the time rat-a-tat faded to an occasional pitter-patter. Bird chirps grew distinct in a surround-sound jazz concert. After the last drop of rain plummeted from heaven into the soil, the two crawled out of their hut and looked around in awe.

From its listless slumber the forest awoke, sleep crust dissolving to reveal revitalised vibrancy. The world was buzzing and singing with renewed energy. Small animals scampered out of their dens and scurried along tree branches in a game of tag. Not far away was a reddish-brown squirrel which looked around timidly before nibbling an acorn in its tiny paws, then wandered off in search for more. It was known that squirrels had an extensive nut stash, since they, like many other animals, understood the importance of storing food.

Kassidy decided to follow their example. "It's getting late. We should prepare ourselves for the night."

"Yeah, we should," replied George absent-mindedly.

She waved a hand in his face. He looked at her. "I'll get water."

She grabbed his arm as he turned to go. "There are lots of impurities in the water right now."

"It's for washing."

"Wash with that water and you risk getting bacteria and mud on you. Perfectly self-defeating."

"Fine. I'll find food and you get wood."

With that, they set off in their separate ways.

***

Once out of her earshot, George kicked his feet along the grassy ground, muttering words of disapproval. He hated know-it-alls. His sister proved to be a model example of it.

Of course he treated his wound with care. It was his wound, his injury, his pain — all his. Why would anyone else know better about his condition than he himself?