Yet So Far
Published by Nathan Thompson at Smashwords
Copyright 2013 Nathan Thompson
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Today was no different.
It couldn't be called a ritual; Hugh had gone far beyond conscious thought during the day. It could barely be called habit. It was reflexive, now - almost like breathing. The red sun would rise, cutting through the cold darkness like a knife, waking Hugh painfully from his fitful sleep.
Rising quickly, Hugh would dash from his small mud hut, and snatch at the small buckets with plastic funnels that stretched out three yards from his home. There would never be much water in each - as dew collectors, they were barely functional - but all told it would be enough to keep him alive, if he collected it all before the burning air dried it up. Any left over would be saved in a thick barrel in the hut. He only had a few days worth saved, but it was better than nothing.