Starvation

Found

Three years ago the economy fell leaving the once great country of Gorbel in ashes. Now, only the upperclass of society can afford to go to bed in clean sheets and with full stomachs. Now, the lowerclass wear rags as they starve to death; and that is the boat I am in.

About one year ago, my parents passed away from starvation. We had enough food and resources stored away to get out family of, then, 5 through the first 2 years of the depression. But when the stocks got low my parents began cutting back on their food intake, and after a few months they both passed away. At age 18, I was left alone to take care of my two younger brothers, Robert (16), and Liam (14).

I look in the grimy mirror at my dull, blue eyes, and wavy, red hair. My freckled skin is pale and clings to my cheek bones. I grab a comb and run it through my hair before pulling it up into a ponytail and turning to walk out of my bedroom.

Down in the kitchen I pull what's left of the bread I made yesterday out of the cupboard and set it on the table for my brothers before turning to make another loaf. These days, it's all I can make. I try to lessen the amount of beef we eat by hunting deer and rabbits, but even they have gotten scarce.

The sounds of bare feet on the stairs shakes me out of my daze, and I turn around to see Robert standing in the doorway. His light brown hair is grimy and in need of a trim, while his tanned skin is smudged in dirt and clings to his cheekbones like mine does. It takes all I can to keep from grimacing at his appearance.

Liam walks in next. He is my height, which is about two inches shorter than Robert. He and his older brother are practically twins, the only thing that sets them apart is subtle differences in their facial features. He has the same colored hair as Robert, and his appearance is much the same.

They sit down at the table and reach for the bread. Robert divides it up amongst them, leaving a chunk for me. They eat in silence. Lately, silence seems to dominate our lives.

I finish kneading the dough and place a towel over it to let it rise. When I'm done, I sit down at the table and reach for my chunk of bread. For the next hour, my siblings and I sit and stare at each other in silence.

I sigh as I get up and grab the dough.

"You boys should bathe and cut your hair. It's been a while," I tell them.

They nod solemnly as I reach for my shotgun and head out the back door. I step on the old, run-down porch and place the dough in the homemade oven, adjusting the device so it directly faces the sun. We had our electricity shut off at the beginning of the depression. Since then, we have had to learn how to survive and manage our farm without it.

I push open the barn door and take in the smell of the horses, pigs, and chickens. I sigh and walk barefooted over to the chicken pen. The eggs are still warm when I place them into the basket, and the chickens cluck happily when I open the door to let them out. I walk down the aisle and begin opening the stall doors for the horses. I shoo them out of the barn and into the pasture for the day before walking back inside the barn to grab the egg basket.

A rustling in the last stall grabs my attention. At first glance I can see that it is empty, but a strangely human groan says differently. I push the stall door open and am startled to find a man laying in the straw. His clothes are torn and dirty, and he groans again as he turns his head. His eyes flutter open for a moment and I catch a glimpse of his brown irises before they close again and his body goes limp.