I like my dress today.

The congregation is taking a day trip and I get to wear my favorite piece:

my sunhat.

After days of observance, come days of perseverance. Everyone crams into the back of caravans, both children and Seniors alike. I sit myself on the ledge. No one stops me.

I like watching the wheels of the caravan turn. I make sure to grip the brim of the wagon to steady myself. Some of the Seniors sit next to me. They push up against me; almost toppling me over with every twist and turn.

I do not mind.

The wheels, the wheels are... so wonderful.

“These Seniors are going to kill me!” my angel yelps, as the wagon gives another jolt.

“He is in the other wagon!” my angel cries.

I know Angel.

It is quite difficult getting close to that boy.

A forced relationship deters me, but that is not the pressing issue. The Seniors have not sat me with the pair since that day. Children have set seating during sermons as well. Even now, certain children are grouped in specified wagons. I had my choice of the first few, after being shepherd there amongst others. The dark-haired boy was not amid us then.

We arrive at the Oasis, a cluster of huts in the dead of the desert. The procession proceeds to surround these shelters. Seniors file out of carts and pour themselves into individual refuges. The children are led to a flimsy tent. A table positioned in the center is topped with stacks of woven baskets.

I grab one.

Children are filtered out of the Oasis and sent into the wasteland. In my basket is a sharp knife. Our mission is to gather cacti and for those of greater skill, eggs.

I focus on gathering cacti.

My sunhat kindly shades my face from the oppressive rays of the sun. Droplets of sweat continue to stream down my hairline and back as I trudge through uneven paths in thinly-made sandals. These sandals do not protect against the scorched surface of the desert landscape. It seems I will be getting blisters today, to no surprise.

Cacti can be tall and rather thick monstrous plants. Their needles can hook into your skin and tear your flesh if not careful. The yellow fruit of this cacti gathers at the tip of it. I must find those closest to the ground. I am not that tall for a child of my age.

“Why must I gather these?” my angel grunts, “They are poisonous!”

Poisonous? Angel, Poisonous?

Have I been digesting poison? I stop my knife midway through a plump yellow one. Are my sultry cacti fruit dangerous? My cacti?

“These induce diarrhea and vomit, especially to the malnourished” my angel mumbles, “Why do they force it upon the children?”

Is that why my stomach aches after supper? All along I believed the eggs were at fault. I glance up.

The sun is at peak.

…

I will return empty-handed.

I will not expose myself or any child to that harmful plant. I start my trek back.

Along the way, I encounter a nest of eggs. The mother snake is coiled around her kin.

“Here lays the cause of everyone’s malnourishment…” my angel starts again, “Why eat them raw? Cook them! How has no one died from this?!”

The eggs must be cooked? Are the Seniors mismanaging our meals?

Ah, no… my mind is getting hazy.

I have to hurry along. Forget the eggs.

I have to get back to the Seniors.

“This is why I must be with him. Do not do this to me!” my angel sobs.

I am sorry Angel. I will try harder. I will.