My Home Speaks

I came here to get away from the words of the other folk. Living amongst them was too hard. I had grown hateful, vengeful, and I don’t think they ever forgave me for what I’d done.

My little place by the spring is nice. I hunt the rabbits that water here, and wet my own throat besides. I built my home under the big outcropping. The shadow it casts shields me from the sun, and the rain as well. It’s a mighty nice rock, stately, mossy, and ever so sturdy. My roof for these 32 years. I’ve never been more than a stones throw away.

It all changed one night though. I was roasting a fat hare, when it sounded of a rockfall. I was afright, and then came a mutter: “How long have you been here?”

“Me?” I said, looking for the source.

“Yes, you.” Spoke the rich voice, apparently out of the very living rock.

“Um, well, 30 years give or take sir.”

“Mmm, I usually nap a bit longer. What are we having for dinner?”

“Rabbit sir.” I squeaked.

“Excellent, stay a while my boy, I’ve nowhere else to be.”

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