Square One
Professional Procrastinator
My dad told me that when everything crumbles around you, you can either sit in the rubble, or you can get to work cleaning up. So while children cling to the ashes of their favorite dolls and wives weep in the arms of their husbands, I march past them all, straight to my workshop. Well, what's left of it.
It ain't that I'm special or nothing. Andrew, my older brother, always had the brains, and my parents were the ones that connected with everyone. But what we all knew was buildin'. My dad built this village into a small town, Andy built himself a whole courier business, and me, well... I just built. Didn't matter what: houses, sheds, even furniture. I don't know much about... well, most things. Not fightin' armies or killin' dragons or askin' rulers of this place or that if they could please leave us out of it, but puttin' houses where there used to be houses? That I can do.
The mayor just stares at me as I start pilin' wood boards in the rubble of one of the houses nearby. "Joseph..." he sighs, and I look up.
"Yessir?"
"What are you doing?"
"Buildin'."
He takes a breath, like he's gonna say something, but he just kinda makes a choked noise. He runs his hand through his beard, which for the first time I can remember, is messier than mine. "I don't think that wood's gonna do it, son," he finally says. I look down at the boards again, and yeah, even though I picked the least charred ones I could find, it's maybe enough for the corner of a house.
I scratch my face, 'cause my beard gets itchy when I have to think. One more reason to try not to do too much of it. "Think my hammer's all that's left, but I could try to get an axe and cut down some more, I guess."
"I've got mine still," a man chimes in nearby. I blush a little as I realize the mayor wasn't the only one watchin' me. A little crowd starts to gather, and my armpits get all sweaty. Ain't had this many eyes on me since I was a kid, whenever I broke a window playing, or when the ladies in church thought I was bein' too noisy. The man smiles a little, but it's kinda sad. "Figured it'd make a good weapon when we were fleeing the invasion. Anyway, I can start chopping down some of the trees that are still standing."
"And I can help carry 'em back!" says a boy standing next to him. Guessin' it's his son, on account of they look alike, but it's just a guess.
Anyhow, he's not the only one speaking up. Soon, everybody's trippin' over themselves to help out. The baker offers food for the workers, once we get his shop back up. Some of the women still have cloth for bedding when night came. The mayor stands up, scramblin' to start organizin' the efforts.
Me? I just grab my hammer and get to work. I smile a little, though. Things are gonna be alright, I think.
Till then? I'll keep buildin'.
It ain't that I'm special or nothing. Andrew, my older brother, always had the brains, and my parents were the ones that connected with everyone. But what we all knew was buildin'. My dad built this village into a small town, Andy built himself a whole courier business, and me, well... I just built. Didn't matter what: houses, sheds, even furniture. I don't know much about... well, most things. Not fightin' armies or killin' dragons or askin' rulers of this place or that if they could please leave us out of it, but puttin' houses where there used to be houses? That I can do.
The mayor just stares at me as I start pilin' wood boards in the rubble of one of the houses nearby. "Joseph..." he sighs, and I look up.
"Yessir?"
"What are you doing?"
"Buildin'."
He takes a breath, like he's gonna say something, but he just kinda makes a choked noise. He runs his hand through his beard, which for the first time I can remember, is messier than mine. "I don't think that wood's gonna do it, son," he finally says. I look down at the boards again, and yeah, even though I picked the least charred ones I could find, it's maybe enough for the corner of a house.
I scratch my face, 'cause my beard gets itchy when I have to think. One more reason to try not to do too much of it. "Think my hammer's all that's left, but I could try to get an axe and cut down some more, I guess."
"I've got mine still," a man chimes in nearby. I blush a little as I realize the mayor wasn't the only one watchin' me. A little crowd starts to gather, and my armpits get all sweaty. Ain't had this many eyes on me since I was a kid, whenever I broke a window playing, or when the ladies in church thought I was bein' too noisy. The man smiles a little, but it's kinda sad. "Figured it'd make a good weapon when we were fleeing the invasion. Anyway, I can start chopping down some of the trees that are still standing."
"And I can help carry 'em back!" says a boy standing next to him. Guessin' it's his son, on account of they look alike, but it's just a guess.
Anyhow, he's not the only one speaking up. Soon, everybody's trippin' over themselves to help out. The baker offers food for the workers, once we get his shop back up. Some of the women still have cloth for bedding when night came. The mayor stands up, scramblin' to start organizin' the efforts.
Me? I just grab my hammer and get to work. I smile a little, though. Things are gonna be alright, I think.
Till then? I'll keep buildin'.