Forty Days: Neima's Ark, book One
“Then there’s a struggle, a tussle between one idea and the next…a long moment of emptiness, of blackness…and the next thought takes root.
And the cycle begins again.
I’m shivering. I’m cold. I’m freezing.
It’s not cold in here—it’s stuffy and close and rather humid—but my clothes and hair are soaking wet and refuse to dry. The extra shifts and blankets I grabbed back at home—home—are soaked through as well.
Arisi is shivering too. So is my mother.
Aunt Zeda has blankets. Dry blankets.
She broug...ht them to the ark several days ago. Kenaan is nailing some of them over the windows, but the rain still gusts in. It’s freezing. I’m freezing.
Aunt Zeda will share her blankets, but only since we know it’s her generosity that warms us.
Her forethought we should be thankful for. I can tell all this from the way her mouth moves, though I hear only the pounding rain.
Not so cold anymore. But still clammy.
If the men weren’t here, I’d peel this ruined, mud-splattered shift off me right now.MoreLess
And the cycle begins again.
I’m shivering. I’m cold. I’m freezing.
It’s not cold in here—it’s stuffy and close and rather humid—but my clothes and hair are soaking wet and refuse to dry. The extra shifts and blankets I grabbed back at home—home—are soaked through as well.
Arisi is shivering too. So is my mother.
Aunt Zeda has blankets. Dry blankets.
She broug...ht them to the ark several days ago. Kenaan is nailing some of them over the windows, but the rain still gusts in. It’s freezing. I’m freezing.
Aunt Zeda will share her blankets, but only since we know it’s her generosity that warms us.
Her forethought we should be thankful for. I can tell all this from the way her mouth moves, though I hear only the pounding rain.
Not so cold anymore. But still clammy.
If the men weren’t here, I’d peel this ruined, mud-splattered shift off me right now.MoreLess
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