CHAPTER FOUR –
1477 Words
CHAPTER FOUR –
=======================================
After another sleepless night, he groggily peeked outside. The sun was still rising, so he would have more time to spend today than the last.
His stomach growled. He realized he hadn’t eaten at all the previous day.
He grabbed the wheat stalks he’d harvested yesterday from the corner and crawled outside.
He had watched his mother craft bread before, and all she needed was three wheat stalks and a crafting table. But where could he find a table?
Almost all buildings in a village had crafting tables. But most were now burnt to a crisp.
He decided to check the blacksmith shop. He would enjoy seeing his father’s “Home away from home,” As he often called it anyway.
Since his dad’s old shop was just a little farther than the fletcher shop, he made it there fairly quickly. Unfortunately, however, the entrance was blocked by debris. His stomach growled again. He needed food, and soon.
I’ll just have to find another way.
He spotted an open window on the side of the building. The only problem was that it was too high for him to reach. In desperation, he ran and leaped, barely grasping the window seal. He used all of his strength to pull himself up, his muscles straining. Finally, he was able to crawl inside.
The one-room shop was a mess. Ash covered the floor and walls. The once hanging swords on the right wall were scattered everywhere. Even the front door was cracked in three places. It made him angry.
Couldn’t the zombies leave just one building whole?
Luckily, the crafting table still sat in the left corner. It was damaged, but he didn’t care. His urgency for food was growing. He began to feel faint.
Hurry!
He took the six stalks of wheat he’d gathered and laid them on the table. Suddenly, his hands began to move on their own, flying so fast they were a blur! His hands combined the wheat, then broke it in half. Then something happened, he wasn’t quite sure what, and his hands came to an abrupt halt, holding two perfect loaves of bread!
Though this might seem odd to some, he was used to this. He’d crafted many things before, including his cane fishing pole. That reminded him- Did it survive the fire? He decided to search for it. After he ate, of course.
After eating the newly-crafted bread, he walked toward the window with renewed energy. But before he crawled through, he noticed the scattered swords on the floor.
Of course! Why didn’t I think of it before?
He picked up a golden sword. Its shining blade made it seem magical, giving him hope.
Wielding it, he took a practice swing. He expected it to be heavy, like the stone sword he’d once used, but instead, it was surprisingly light, probably due to it being made of gold. Now he would be able to defend himself.
He climbed out of the window, his new weapon in hand.
As he crawled outside, he saw it.
Rain.
If there was one thing he hated, besides zombies, it was rain. Why? Why not? Monsters could spawn in this weather, it made travel more difficult, and it got a person all wet.
He groaned.
Things were just starting to go well, too.
Deciding that standing there wasn’t going to make it stop, he stepped out from underneath the awning of the shop and dashed toward home.
Finally, he arrived at his base. He quickly took out the loose floorboard and dropped down, sword still in hand.
Once the floorboard was back in place, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was always a good feeling to be home.
He took off his wet tunic and tossed it in the corner. It would dry overnight. He also did the same with his boots, as well as his new sword.
He then lied down, the cold dirt sending chills up his back.
I’ll be glad when I can sleep on a bed again.
Then he corrected himself.
If.
Closing his eyes, he listened to the rain beating against the roof. He was cold without his boots and tunic, but he tried to make the best of it.
I never imagined sleeping on dirt.
A tear ran down his face.
Why me?!
Resisting the urge to cry, he soon drifted off to sleep, leaving his bad day behind him.
=======================================
After another sleepless night, he groggily peeked outside. The sun was still rising, so he would have more time to spend today than the last.
His stomach growled. He realized he hadn’t eaten at all the previous day.
He grabbed the wheat stalks he’d harvested yesterday from the corner and crawled outside.
He had watched his mother craft bread before, and all she needed was three wheat stalks and a crafting table. But where could he find a table?
Almost all buildings in a village had crafting tables. But most were now burnt to a crisp.
He decided to check the blacksmith shop. He would enjoy seeing his father’s “Home away from home,” As he often called it anyway.
Since his dad’s old shop was just a little farther than the fletcher shop, he made it there fairly quickly. Unfortunately, however, the entrance was blocked by debris. His stomach growled again. He needed food, and soon.
I’ll just have to find another way.
He spotted an open window on the side of the building. The only problem was that it was too high for him to reach. In desperation, he ran and leaped, barely grasping the window seal. He used all of his strength to pull himself up, his muscles straining. Finally, he was able to crawl inside.
The one-room shop was a mess. Ash covered the floor and walls. The once hanging swords on the right wall were scattered everywhere. Even the front door was cracked in three places. It made him angry.
Couldn’t the zombies leave just one building whole?
Luckily, the crafting table still sat in the left corner. It was damaged, but he didn’t care. His urgency for food was growing. He began to feel faint.
Hurry!
He took the six stalks of wheat he’d gathered and laid them on the table. Suddenly, his hands began to move on their own, flying so fast they were a blur! His hands combined the wheat, then broke it in half. Then something happened, he wasn’t quite sure what, and his hands came to an abrupt halt, holding two perfect loaves of bread!
Though this might seem odd to some, he was used to this. He’d crafted many things before, including his cane fishing pole. That reminded him- Did it survive the fire? He decided to search for it. After he ate, of course.
After eating the newly-crafted bread, he walked toward the window with renewed energy. But before he crawled through, he noticed the scattered swords on the floor.
Of course! Why didn’t I think of it before?
He picked up a golden sword. Its shining blade made it seem magical, giving him hope.
Wielding it, he took a practice swing. He expected it to be heavy, like the stone sword he’d once used, but instead, it was surprisingly light, probably due to it being made of gold. Now he would be able to defend himself.
He climbed out of the window, his new weapon in hand.
As he crawled outside, he saw it.
Rain.
If there was one thing he hated, besides zombies, it was rain. Why? Why not? Monsters could spawn in this weather, it made travel more difficult, and it got a person all wet.
He groaned.
Things were just starting to go well, too.
Deciding that standing there wasn’t going to make it stop, he stepped out from underneath the awning of the shop and dashed toward home.
Finally, he arrived at his base. He quickly took out the loose floorboard and dropped down, sword still in hand.
Once the floorboard was back in place, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was always a good feeling to be home.
He took off his wet tunic and tossed it in the corner. It would dry overnight. He also did the same with his boots, as well as his new sword.
He then lied down, the cold dirt sending chills up his back.
I’ll be glad when I can sleep on a bed again.
Then he corrected himself.
If.
Closing his eyes, he listened to the rain beating against the roof. He was cold without his boots and tunic, but he tried to make the best of it.
I never imagined sleeping on dirt.
A tear ran down his face.
Why me?!
Resisting the urge to cry, he soon drifted off to sleep, leaving his bad day behind him.
- Writer
