He slowly opened it up and couldn't believe his eyes. It was a bag, nearly the size of his fist, that was filled with seeds of some kind. It'd been years since he had seen any, but he was sure these were wheat kernels.
He quickly pulled them out of the bag and ate a palm full. It had been a while since he ate wheat and there was nothing in recent memory more sweet than these berries.
He reached for another handful, before quickly closing the door. Those men gave it to him and him alone.
But why did they give it to him?
Before he shovelled the second handful into his mouth he thought back to what the man said. He mentioned the king and planting. What nonsense, does the king think weather like this can produce a harvest? This is a slap in the face rather than any sort of help.
He brought the next handful to his mouth but… it wasn't like the king and his men were uneducated, like him…
Maybe it was the handful he consumed earlier but he gave the situation some optimism. Maybe this was something special.
Or maybe he was delusional.
But surely men who could mention would know something, wouldn't they?
As he picked up the bag and thought about what to do before he noticed a noise other than the crackling of his fireplace. He looked behind him to see nothing out of the ordinary… until he looked at one of the windows. One of the wood panels covering it had pushed forward on one side. Almost as if, someone had tried to look inside.
He then heard knocking on his door and soon had the door kicked in so hard that the latch snapped right off.
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He sat bruised on the floor, with the people he once trusted, not only taking all the seeds they could grasp but a few layers off him as well, for their own warmth.
He looked up to the still blazing fire and then to his son, thankful they ignored him. He didn't react to his father's beating but he was glad for it. It meant the boy did not waste any energy worrying about his father.
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He rubbed his jaw and picked himself up. He tried his best to border up the open door. But that's when he noticed it. Eight seeds in total under him. They must have escaped their gaze.
He could only sigh as he picked them up and placed them in his mouth. But then he thought to earlier and looked towards his son. He gathered some snow from the outside and heated it up with some sawdust he ground from the floor. He fed his son the mixture that contained no more sustenance than the air. He then headed down his stairs to the first floor.
It was cold and dark, but this was the end. He knew what he was doing didn't make sense but if there existed a Proper God in this world, maybe this would save him.
He picked up a hoe that hadn't seen proper use since he was a young boy and slammed it against the wooden floor. He did so until his hands were numb and he could finally see dirt.
He slammed it one more time, picking away at the ice-like ground before dropping the hoe and flicking his hands in pain.
He placed the seeds in the dirt before heading back upstairs and making some water using snow in a pot.
He waited till it became a nice and warm room temperature before pouring it over the dirt. It helped thaw the dirt and he covered it over.
He sat back down looking at his work and he couldn't help but bring his head into his hands with tears in his eyes.
(“W-what the hell am I doing?”) He thought to himself. Tears started to form in his eyes.
He got on his knees and clasped his hands in front of the disturbed dirt.
“P-please! I pray to Gabriel, I pray to Michael, I…” He paused and wiped his eyes, his lips quivering. “I pray to Uriel, I pray to Raphael, I pray to any God that's listening!!! Please save my son! Please release us from this hunger!!!! I beg! I beg! I beg!!! Save us, eternal fathers, eternal mother, eternal rulers of this world! I wish for my son not to die a dog's death in a wretched world!”
He prostrated himself to no one as he said these words.
His voice lost the desire it held earlier and he could only mutter whispers.
“Please. Please, dear heavenly rulers, please save us.”
Then he saw it. A glimmer of hope.
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Seven days. It was a gruelling seven days to reach this point. He gave them water every day. He prayed with all his might before them, showing as much devotion as a priest. And he had restrained himself to wait until it was time. Each day, they looked more tantalising but he knew he had to wait. They ran out of food but he ran on willpower alone for this past week.
His son grew more and more decrepit, but finally, he could reverse this crime the world and himself had caused.
On the first floor of his house was an exposed patch of dirt. And within this dirt after one week, were the seeds he planted. They were now full-grown stalks of wheat.