The True Story Of Easter
The wind blew across the speargrass, waving indolently. It had been coming from the west for a long time now, and had progressively sucked all the moisture and life out of the land. The grass was thin and yellow, the trees were spindly and struggling, and the creeks were dry, reduced to puddles of mud. Most importantly, the animals had disappeared. Gure and Lana sat near the fire, not far from their mum who was pounding grass seeds into flour to make into bread. There wasn’t much of it around anymore. They looked out over the grasslands to the group of people approaching slowly from the distance. Even from here they could sense their dejection in their sloping shoulders, their shuffling step, their arms carrying only unused spears. ‘They didn’t get anything’, Lana said. ‘No’, said her brother, ‘it doesn’t look like it ey.’ They stared at the adults as the women stood up slowly, their arms motionless by their side. The men walked into the campsite, looking at the groun...