He pulls me out of the cabin near the beach, and tells me the tide is alive. He says that out in the blue night a million tiny vessels are flowing along the current off to somewhere else, and he wants us to go with them. I say no. The hut near the beach is all we have, where we can rest in relative safety, considering the times.
from Famine Fever, a short story
In November 1995, prompted by a significant historical anniversary, I wrote a short fiction piece on a big emotional issue: the Great Famine. This morning, I woke up and realised that this year was another anniversary, albeit not one people have tended to note. I’ve decided to re-post Famine Fever before the year is out, considering the times.
And since there are still people in crisis in our community and very close by, I thought I’d post these too: