The little orphen boy

Chapter Three : Beyond the Dust Road

The decision to leave the village did not come with courage—it came with necessity. The boy knew that if he stayed, hunger would slowly take everything that remained of him. The land had already taken his mother. It would soon take his future.

He waited for a morning when the sky was pale and quiet. His father sat outside the house, staring at the fields that had failed them year after year. The boy packed what little he owned: a small cloth bag, a piece of dried maize, and his mother’s memory folded carefully in his heart. There were no goodbyes, only silence.

He stood for a long moment at the doorway. The walls of the house were cracked, the roof bent with age, but it was the only home he had ever known. Every corner carried a memory—his mother’s laughter, his father’s tired smile, the sound of hunger-filled nights. With trembling hands, he stepped away.

The dirt road stretched ahead like an unanswered question. It led beyond the village, beyond the fields, toward places he had only heard about in whispers. His feet hesitated, then moved forward. Each step felt heavy, as though the earth itself was trying to pull him back.

As he walked, the village slowly faded behind him. The huts grew smaller, the voices quieter, until there was nothing but wind and dust. The sun climbed higher, and his stomach tightened with hunger, but he kept going. Fear walked beside him, yet hope led the way.

He met strangers along the road—some kind, some cold. A woman gave him water once. A man chased him away from a market stall. The world beyond the village was not gentle, but it was wide, and it offered possibility. For the first time, the boy understood that survival meant movement.

At night, he slept beneath the open sky. The stars felt closer than before, as if watching over him. He whispered his fears into the darkness and promised his mother that he would not give up. Even when his legs ached and tears came uninvited, he remembered why he had left.

Days passed. Hunger returned again and again, but so did determination. Each sunrise brought new roads, new faces, and new chances. Though he was alone, he felt something growing inside him—strength shaped by loss, and courage born from necessity.

When he reached the edge of a larger town, he stopped and looked ahead. Smoke rose from chimneys, voices filled the air, and life moved fast and loud. It frightened him—but it also called to him.

The boy stepped forward.

He was no longer just a child from a forgotten village. He was a survivor, carrying grief, hope, and an unbreakable will. His journey had only just begun, and though the road ahead was uncertain, he knew one thing for sure—

He would not turn back.