Free Circles in the Dust by Matthew Harrop Page B

cabin, the ax usually stuck in one nowhere to be seen. His door hung lazily open and there was a hole in his roof where it had been caved in by snow. Awakened from his delusional haze, David realized with a start just how much he had let himself go.
                  She reached the top while he stood there staring down at his mess of a camp.
                  “Are we close—” she started to ask when his cabin came into view. “So this is it?”
                  “This is it,” he responded. “This is home.”
                  “You built this?” she asked, and he had to look at her to see if her awe was sincere. Her face showed no signs of sarcasm. Her eyes were wide and her mouth hung open, if only a little.
                  “Yeah, I built it myself,” he said hesitantly. “It’s not much, but it’s something.”
                  “It’s impressive.”
                  “Really?” She had to be mocking him.
                  “Of course! We were lucky enough to find an old farmhouse, so we didn’t have to build anything.” She jumped as she mentioned whoever it was she had left to explore the forest, ending her speech and fixing her eyes on her feet.
                  “That is lucky,” he said softly, afraid of scaring her off. “The houses that were out here were taken pretty fast. After a while there were a few vacancies, but a corpse doesn’t make much of a roommate, with the smell and all, so I found this little hollow and settled down here.” He smirked a little at his dark humor and looked up to find a smile cracking through her nervous visage. Of course, it could have been something funny about her feet, where her eyes remained glued. His head spun at the effort required to talk and walk down the hill, but he fought the nausea rising in his throat and savored the grin hiding behind her stony front.
                  “Well, it looks cozy,” she said as they were nearing the bottom of the hill.
                  It was cozy at one point; now, as David walked up to his open door, he couldn’t agree less.
                  “Sorry it’s such a mess down here,” David said, running his hand through his greasy hair, pulling it out when it got stuck in the mud and thistles that had taken refuge in his clinging mane.
                  “The world’s a mess,” she said, casting a sidelong glance at him.
                  “No kidding. I’ll get some food started, I’m starving,” he said as he reached for his bucket. Empty.
                  She saw him look into the bucket and sigh. She dug into her bag, pulled out her aluminum water bottle and offered it to him, saying, “My contribution.”
                  He wanted to refuse her offer and started to, but he was so ravenous and fatigued that the thought of making a trip back to the river made him feel physically ill. He relented and took the bottle with a muttered “Thanks” and poured the contents into the single pot that sat next to the fire. It had been lying upside-down, but a quick brush removed the dirt from its lip. He hung it over the fire from the tripod he had lashed together and limped over to his cabin.
                  It was no shock to see his possessions in complete disarray. The hooks on the walls were barren, but most things seemed to be present. He picked up his blanket and tossed it back on the mattress, which seemed to be soiled with unfamiliar stains, and took a seat on the ice chest that held his last morsels. He let his head sink into his hands, allowing himself a moment to take in what was happening. He was home, awake, alive, with a girl. All at the same time. She was real and he was going to make her a meal. Then she was going to leave. No. His head whipped up and he winced. He couldn’t let that happen, couldn’t let his