Stories Of The Han

My father said he waited for 7 days. He looked up towards the hill to see if she would return. Each day he looked up, each day he looked down. He began to lose faith. He was 5 years old, a little boy, desperate, face wretched in hunger pains His younger brother was only 3, he would nurse him with what little food he could find Moments of delirium mixed with fear, despair, then fear again would mingle and dance around him He could hear the moans, the feeling of grim, the silence of hopelessness If only he could rid the hunger If only he could avoid his eyes from seeing the pain around him He looked up and she was no where to be found He was looking for her, his mother One day she appeared, her silhouette casting a shadow, her hands holding a bushel of grass She would boil what vegetation she found and would feed her children telling them she had already eaten My father knew she was lying but he ate quietly, swallowing his tears.