Wake
The boy’s eyelids had somehow popped opened again. He stared up into the star-filled heavens.
Okomi, his father, shooed away the buzzing flies and swept his hand down over his son’s face. He then turned and made another attempt at fire. The tinder wouldn’t take. The fallen logs were soaked through from a recent rain and rubbing the stick back and forth, grinding it into the flat piece of wood, felt futile.
Yet he did not stop.
It took his mind off things. The cold desert night. The journey from home. The journey to see the witch doctor.
After some time, his hands nearly rubbed raw, smoke finally rose and the tinder glowed until flames spread onto smaller pieces of brush. He nursed the fire carefully until it was roaring at last. Seeming to sense Okomi’s victory over the elements,
