---

 

This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “Lifeboat” Down in the Dirt, v190 (the 12/21 Issue) Order the paperback book:

Order this writing that appears in the one-of-a-kind anthology Stardust in Hand the Down in the Dirt Sept.-Dec. 2021 issues collection book		get the 422 page Sept.-Dec. 2021 Down in the Dirt 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Dark Harvest

Paul Stansbury

    Jorge gazed over the valley floor as he climbed the steep slope to the tree line of the forested mountain. The sun was brilliant and even though it was just an hour after sunrise, the heat rose up from the green overgrowth drawing beads of sweat out of his forehead. The valley floor was quiet and he could hear birds singing in the forest ahead. As Jorge moved along, he could hear himself breathe. The tangled undergrowth scraped his leggings. This would be a good day he thought.
    Usually such bright hot mornings foretold the discovery of many fruits. Jorge was especially good at locating the fruit. The other finders always approached the task uneasily, constantly in fear of the danger that accompanied the finder in his foraging. But for Jorge, finding was a relief. He was good at his job and it freed him from working with the others back at the encampment.
    As he struggled up the steep slope he remembered when he had been chosen to come to this strange world. The quest leaders had sent for him as they had for many other youths. His parents told him that it was his duty to go. The youths in many of the villages were resistant to the quest. Jorge too questioned the worth of this quest but fearing the disapproval of his parents and the quest leaders, he dutifully followed their orders. He could not shame them by fleeing to the wilds. Jorge had always tried to follow the rules set forth by his parents and the village shamans. They were elaborate, covering all aspects of life including one’s thoughts. All youths were schooled in them from a very early age. Failure to follow the rules and do one’s duty was displeasing and would result in ridicule, punishment or even banishment. The thought rules were most difficult and confusing. Even thinking wrong things was bad. God, the omnipotent one, for whom his parents and village shamans spoke, knew all and would condemn those not having the correct thoughts to an eternity of pain and loneliness. As with all youths, Jorge gave in to temptations. He did not often get caught, yet he lived in fear of being found out and knew in his heart that he was bad. Anything new was frightening. New people and new situations always meant new rules and new opportunities for failure.
    The quest journey to the far world had been filled with many frightening events. There were many temptations presented to Jorge along the way. Although he had tried to follow all the rules he had learned, he was ever drawn to break them for his own pleasure and amusement. Jorge knew, in order to avoid ridicule and punishment, he must follow every rule set out for him. But, he always failed. He learned to hide and lie about his sins effectively. Although he was successful at fooling those around him, Jorge knew that he was inherently bad and that he had let everyone down, especially God. He could keep many of his sins hidden from people, but not from God, who was all knowing. Jorge had long since given up hope of pleasing God and had accepted that his spirit would be banished to the wastelands after his death.
    He envied and despised those who tested the rules, believing that they received too little retribution for their acts. He knew that if he had committed those acts and had been found out, he would have been severely punished. On the trip to the new world, he deviated many times from the rules and lived in dread that he would be found out. He drank to numb his fears. To make up for his failures, he performed his tasks as perfectly as was possible knowing that he was valued only by the measure of his performance.
    After a few minutes of climbing, Jorge came upon a small, open area. Such areas were particularly good for finding fruit. Just outside the shadows of the leaves, he found them. There were six, all fine specimens. The fruit was typically black or pink and sometimes brown. This group had two black and four pink. They lay on the forest floor covered by their dark green husks with some of the soft flesh exposed. Red, sticky sap drooled out of various pores in the fruit. These, he realized were very fresh.
    As a finder, Jorge found a task suited to his likes. He could work alone and was free to explore his own thoughts as he searched. After a find, he would mark the spot and tally the numbers. Later, the gatherers would come for the harvest. Most finders were uneasy about the job. They were unaccustomed to the fruit and disliked the thought of wandering around the forests alone. Some believed the fruit brought bad luck and that evil things would befall them if they touched it.
    After the fruit was tallied and gathered, it was usually sent back to the villages. There, it received much attention. Some villagers, like his parents, rallied around the fruit and pointed to it with pride, citing the greater cause of the quest. Others wept for the destruction of a far world and the loss of a generation of young men to the quest.
    Most of this was lost on Jorge. He was content to go about his finding duties feeling neither pleasure nor dismay over the job that so many others hated. After so many years of living with his pain and fears, he learned to drive them deep inside where they rarely surfaced anymore. When they did, he always had drink to numb them. He had a task to complete. He felt nothing save the satisfaction of turning in his locations and tallies knowing that for another day he had gotten by without any trouble.
    After finding two more groups of fruit, Jorge returned to camp. He went to the long house to sit on the fringe of the gathers and hunters, drink and listen to their tales of heroism. He rarely joined in, knowing they disliked him and resented his presence. This night as had happened on other occasions, he was jeered by a hunter who had too much to drink. Jorge left the long house and returned to his bed in shame. As he lay in his bed, his anger and resentments turned slowly inward. Just before he drifted into unconsciousness, he realize how utterly desolate he was, how he had no worth and how thin and weak was the facade he portrayed to the world. The hopelessness of his life weighed heavily upon him like a rock on his chest. Then, he dreamed his dream: One day while out finding, he would be transformed. Where he was once the finder, he would now be the found. He would lay in the dirt among the leaves and branches until another finder came to tally him and mark his location for the gathers. They would send him home to the village where all those who had criticized him and called him down would march through the streets and sing heroic songs and set him in a place of honor. This transformation that the others feared would be his moment of victory. Only then would his parents, the shamans, and his comrades accept him. Perhaps even God would take pity on him. This is what he longed for, to be freed from the misery of his existence and to gain acceptance. It was his dream of hope, his dream of despair.
    The next day, Jorge set out to search for more fruit. The day was cold, dark, and overcast, the kind that he disliked as the light was poor in the forest making finding more difficult. He was just about to enter the forest when he sensed a stillness in the forest he had not experienced before. He moved cautiously into the trees.
    He felt the searing pain in his chest before he heard the report of the rifle. The forest floor rose up slowly to meet him. As he lay choking on his blood, he saw a figure with a rifle step out from behind a tree, then the flash of the muzzle. The transformation was complete, he lay dead on the forest floor.

***

    The 14 year old Afghan sniper was pleased as he watched the American soldier convulse one last time as the second bullet tore through his torso. He had seen many such men fall at his hands. This one had been near enough to see clearly. Sometimes these men had looks of surprise and horror in their faces, other times they had hatred in their eyes. This was the first time he had seen one smile.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...