Bleak Prospects (Friday Flash)

"Constancy in love is a good thing; but it means nothing, and is nothing, without constancy in every kind of effort." Bleak House, by Charles Dickens Luc hacked-up more blood-flecked phlegm into a scrap of old burlap. It reeked of sour potatoes. He wished he still had some potatoes. Instead he was shivering his ass off in the cold. Waiting. Always waiting. Jorzi slogged through dismal gray mud. Her boots were ruined. Her feet raw, wet and bleeding. She hated this dreary, filthy place. Always raining. Always rotting. She muttered a quick prayer; her fifth this morning. She did not want to become infected. Like the others. Like her mother. Like her brother. Tig jumped down from the rafters. Six rats in his catch-sack. They'd eat well tonight. Jorzi climbed up the rickety ladder. She didn't entirely trust the mold-splotched thing, but it seemed to hold her weight. For the most part. Not that she weighed much. Not any more. Tig clambered through the jag