Writer

Caveman couple

She approached cautiously, her eyes focused intently on my clay tablet: “What are you doing, Kriah?”

I looked up and smiled at my young wife, “I am writing.”

She furrowed her brows, “Writing? What is that?”

I invited her to sit down but she declined, so I replied, “I try to record the things that happen so that our children may read of them.”

“Children?” she snorted. “At this rate we’ll be lucky if we last the winter. Why can’t you be like the other men who hunt food or grow crops for their families? We have nothing but the rags we wear!”

I did not know what to say, and the silence hung heavily between us until she sat down and rested her head on my shoulder, “You bring me much shame with your dreaming, Kriah, but you are my husband and I your wife; will you show me the meaning of these shapes you write so I may understand, and one day, perhaps teach our children?”

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