The Haiti  





He opened his eyes. It was morning and he felt a chill on his back. The night warmth of his sister's body was gone. She was in the corner of the room heating water over a small Primus stove. He pushed the sacking aside and stretched.
‘Pablito, go clean your teeth.’
Always she began the day like this. Just like their mother had done. He didn't mind.
‘Why should I clean my teeth, when so little has passed between them.’
Always he gave the same answer.
She picked up a stick, turned and hissed at him. Laughing he grabbed his toothbrush and ran out of the room.
Theirs was one of about a dozen open doorways which gave on to a narrow roofless communal passage. At the end nearest the opening that led through a wall to the main road there was a single water faucet. Señora Ramirez was using it, filling a yellow plastic bucket, water splashing in the dust at her feet. Pablito had to wait. [for full story click here]
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© 2015 by Bill Albert