Barley Writes: Revising previous excerpts

“I could feel the sand’s warmth on my body. It felt so good. So incredible.” the old village treasurer would go on, reminiscing and evangelising about the days of his youth and the times that he would lay on the warm, sandy beaches of numerous areas. He seemed to be an empty, but curious traveler back when his aching back scavenging couldn’t stop him from stowing away in ships and at some point, trains just to feel the warmth other parts of the world that beckoned on him, continuously. Some of us would even wonder how he could have even navigated his way back into our small village, hidden amongst the thick trees and encompassing snow of the reoccurring winter times.

His stories were amazing. he would regale us on the times he visited the people of other continents and their ways of entertaining and accepting him. Sometimes, he would even tell us of his romantic endeavours and interests and how they were only ” failed attempts in trying to appease the opposite sex”; hence, making him and unmarried even at his old age. However, villagers could not deny the fact that he was still an active romeo scavenging for his Juliet up and around the village. He would meet all the widows and all the unmarried older female folk of the village just to get the time of day but they would not give it to him anyways. Older women would either be rejecting him based on the fact that their husband should be regarded as an entity in their life and they shall love no other the same way they loved their dead husbands or they would just say no. Just a simple, death inducing NO. His gesticulations, his witty statements and his constant wooing of women so he can fill up his sad, but rather humorous void would fail. The women would say he’s too spontaneous and too free willed. the would focus on his inability to act like other older men in the village and be mature. His life was a one that the older women would make fun of or one that grandparents would tell their grandchildren not to have. Life was perfect. Not for him but it was anyways. Just perfect.

Aside from his stories, children would play from the break of dawn till the opening of dusk.  Men with thick beards would walk into the darkness the trees had created and came back sometime later with just the right amount of firewood that would be sold at a reasonable price, or at least a price that I knew was adequate. I did not even know why people would argue over the price while the remainder of the community;  a rather large population, was fine with it…


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