A free flash fiction by Erica Fransisca.
The child didn’t have anything left except the clothes on his back and a deck of old cards his father made him save.
The thing about carpentry was that the job paid too little for the work it demanded, and that wood burned. Oh, how wood burned indeed. And the thing about carpenters, they were so protective of the woods they chiseled. Unfortunately for the child, his father was a carpenter to the core, the truest one in this entire land.
Neither father nor child expected the fire. For decades, their little hut had endured many terrors. It was the only one left on this hill. His father said the gods would protect them as long as they stayed there. He was wrong.
The fire started after midnight and engulfed every inch of his home within minutes. His father reached for his woods in an attempt to save them and the child couldn’t stop him. The flame ate him, and his life’s work, whole.
The child stood waiting, far out of the fire’s reach but not far enough to escape his father’s screams. It burned for hours, though his tears dried up faster. The sun had risen early that morning and was almost ready to say goodbye again.
As flesh and wood became one, the child could no longer see where his father’s body ended and the wooden cabinets started. Only ashes remained.
He decided it was time to go.
Seven years were not enough for anyone to learn the way of the world. But the child was certain the cards in his pocket couldn’t put food in his belly. What was he to eat? Where was he to go? He didn’t have any relatives, nor his father any friends. The town was his best bet, though it lied so very, very far away.
He walked down the hill until his entire existence consisted only of his feet and the dirt path beneath them. He passed no other person or settlement. Filth and tiny rocks clung to his bare feet, while sun and rain battered down his already scrawny self.
As he journeyed, many things passed through the child’s mind and he let them all linger, except for food and water. He cast them away and locked them out because he had no means of acquiring either; mere imagination would do him no good.
“Rise and shine, little bird,” a voice sang.
The child opened his eyes, surprised to be asleep. He swore he was walking… Somehow, he’d fallen asleep on the side of the road, a completely strange place for anyone to sleep, much less a lone child. His body ached all over and his skin was scorched red by the midday sun.
The man peering at him had beady eyes and a wide, crooked smile. He crouched, blinking and smiling still, “Yes, you look like you need help?”
“I, uh,” the child croaked. He hadn’t spoken to anyone for days, hadn’t had a drop to drink.
“Water?” The man said and offered him a leather flask, which the child gulped down in seconds.
“Thank you. By any means, Sir, are you headed to town?” Asked the child once he’d recollected himself. His gaze fell to the cart the man seemed to be pulling. Ah, that would be a good place to rest indeed. When the man said nothing, he added, “Forgive me, Sir, but our house burned down with my father inside. You see, I have nothing and nobody left. I’m the carpenter’s son.”
“Oh,” the man raised one brow, intrigued. Then he smiled knowingly. Something glinted in his eye. “The carpenter’s son, you say?”
“Yes, Sir.”
The man made a show of considering helping the child. He rubbed his chin for a good minute before nodding, satisfied. “I suppose you can hop in. Although… I am but a humble merchant and could not possibly carry the extra weight without getting something in return.”
The child’s face fell as he muttered, “I don’t have any money Sir, just myself.”
“Oh no! I’m afraid you didn’t hear me,” the man chuckled. “I said I’m a merchant, which means I can sell all sorts of strange objects. Even old and, well, weird objects.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are stories, little one, of a curious set of cards with uncanny images on it. They say it last fell to the hands of a carpenter from this very side of the world. Do you have it?”
The child had already risen from his position on the ground. He reached into his pocket and drew out a ragged bundle. Inside were the cards his father ordered him to take when he couldn’t even save himself. “Is this what you want?”
“Yes, yes, the very one,” the man grinned like no man ever grinned before. Excitement plastered his face. He was already reaching towards the cards when the child snatched it back.
“If my father died for this, it must be very valuable,” said the child.
The man sighed and stifled a yelp, “You’re smart for someone so young. I told you I’ll carry you to town, what more do you want?”
“I want a place to stay and food to eat for the entire month,” he crossed his little arms. His father said the gesture could intimidate people. He also put on a tough face, but he was silently cursing himself. What a dumb thing to say! Now this man would leave him here to die. And for what? Some torn cards with creepy drawings?
To his surprise, the man actually nodded. “A very fair deal, very fair indeed. I’ll tell you what, I’ll introduce you to a friend. I’m sure he’ll pay you a few coins for some extra hands.”
The child smiled, all hunger and sorrow vanishing in that instance. His little hands were happy to hand over the cards.
And so he climbed into the man’s wooden cart, content to be sitting still as they rode towards town.
Thanks for reading this free flash fiction!
This was first written on my Deviantart page. If you enjoyed this, check out more free flash fiction on here.