NOTHING
FRIDAY, JULY 23, 1779
I hear something. A rustling? A movement? I cough … causing white spots of pain to light up behind my closed eyes. My temples throb as my ears suck in every sound around me. But all I hear is my own raspy breath.
“It’s only a dream,” I mumble, licking at my dry lips. Where is the water?
But wait … I hear it again …
The last leaf hangs low on the stalk. Is it ready?
“Father?”
I open my eyes.
“Scar?”
He doesn’t answer.
I turn my head toward him and end up with a bunch of his thick, black hair in my mouth.
Again I hear it. A whisper.
I breathe in … and out … in … and out … trying to quiet the thudding of my heart.
The sky is brightening. I can no longer see the stars.
It’s nothing. I close my eyes.
But then my eyes fly open. I have not heard a sound, but deep inside, I feel it.
He’s coming.