Unn awoke and scratched at his beard. It was cold, and the embers of the fire near the cavemouth were barely glowing. He added some dry moss and attempted to blow them back into life, but his efforts were futile. He dreaded the thought of having to trudge through the snow to his brother’s dwelling to ask for fire yet again. But need prompted him to go see Urn anyway. Unn and clan’s three women that lived with Urn, watched in admiration as Urn struck stones together and sparks emerged. Urn was one bright troglodyte.
Suzie had no intention of getting Brian to put up Christmas decorations. Though she loved him, she knew he didn’t have an artistic bone in his body. That wasn’t what bothered her. No, it was that when he “helped” taking boxes out of the attic, that his languid efforts proved she should have just done it herself.
“Your mum and I are really proud of you.” The statement kind of washed over him when it was said. He had received several congratulations since being chosen captain, but now it was starting to niggle at him. “Your mum and I are really proud of you,” he had said. A simple complement, a life-affirming moment perhaps. But it now seemed strange coming from the postman.
They were in dire need of a breakthrough. The year had been a hard one and the last vestiges of civil society were evaporating. Few even had a modicum of humanity left in them. It seemed that it was everyone for themselves. Who could have thought that such a situation could arise just because the pubs were closed?