Say Something New
All Stories are old stories told in a new way.
These are the words that John’s father told him every time he sat down to write. Kinda silly concept to be honest. What does Father know? I’ll prove him wrong. And with this, the thirteen-year-old John once again stepped out of his hut to search the village for new ideas.
His twin, Mary, coughed, lying on her bed. “Don’t forget my medicine, Brother.”
“Sure, sure,” he said, closing the door behind him. The sun peaked from behind the mountains to the right. Men rubbed their eyes and carried their shovels, machetes, and sickles on their backs. Those fortunate enough also woke their bull to plough their fields.
“Ah, John!” said his Uncle Paul, he carried a mattock in his right arm and a sack of tools on his whithering back. “Help me carry these.”
“Uncle, you go to that farm every day. Shouldn’t you doing something… I don’t know… new?”
“The farms are the only thing that provide food for this whole village.”
“Yes, but what about you?”
“I feel proud. Working hard for our people, what could be greater?”
“I don’t know.” He sharpened his eyes.
“Look. You going to help me or not?”
“I…ah…”
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His Uncle grumbled and walked away. Now that he’s out of the way. What’s new in this soaking village, huh? Maybe I should try the market? So, he marched toward the market, but he had to face closed gates. He looked around, but nothing extraordinary thing came into sight. But then he saw Lucy with a sack of flowers with her. She wore a loose green dress with patches. I bet she sells those to new people daily. Some must have tons of stories.
“Hey, where are you going?”
She pushed back her ginger hair and smiled with her freckled face, “Hey, what are you doing here?”
“Might I help?” He nodded at the sack.
“Thanks, you don’t need to.”
“I insist.”
She gave him her sack, and they started walking. She told him many stories, but none inspired him. Most of them were of the village’s cats.
“So, where are you going?” John asked
“To my usual shops.”
“Usual?”
“The shops I sell my flowers to?”
“So, you sell to the same shops every day?”
“Yes, is there a problem?”
“No,” said John, but his face went dark like the setting sun.
Lucy tried to keep the conversation going, but John was more concerned about finishing the task. Her smile faded: she enjoyed talking to him.
John opened the door as the stars twinkled in the sky.
“John, come here,” said Mary. “sit with me,” said Mary.
“I’m tired, Mary. But I have your medicine.”
He gave her the small green veil. She took a sip and frowned. “Do your sister a favour. Now, sit here.”
“What?” he said, sitting beside her bed.
“Do you remember when you played hide and sneak with the other boys?”
“Yes, but every other boy does that too?”
“And I was sitting on the tree, and then, I fell.” She laughed.
“Everybody falls.”
“What did you tell me?”
“Don’t you remember?”
“I want to hear it again.”
“Can’t we talk about something new?”
“Please, brother.”
“It’s alright. It’s going to be okay.”
She smiled. “Yes… It’s alright. It’s going to be okay.” Then she closed her eyes. John waited for her to speak again, but she wouldn’t.
“Mary?” He shook her, but she wouldn’t move. Tears fell from his eyes, and he hugged her. Her last words echoed in the empty room.
January
February
The sun rose again, and John opened the door. The sun peeked from the mountains, and people went to work, rubbing their eyes.
“Ah, Uncle, going to the farm?” said John approaching his Uncle.
“It isn’t something new, John.”
He smiled. “Doesn’t make it less important.”
When the sun turned orange, and the air chilled his ears, he went to find Lucy. He found her selling flowers to a shack of an old woman. She turned back.
“Oh, hey, John. I…ah… I’m sorry about your sister. Are you alright?”
“I think I’m going to be okay.”
“So, what brings you here?”
“I want to listen to that cat story?”
Her face lit up, and her cheeks touched her eyes from smiling, but then she sharpened her eyes. “Why? Didn’t I tell you already?”
“I want to listen to it again.”