Hunger Pains

        It was the time between night and dawn when the sun’s rays illuminated the toxic cloud above the city, and the land beneath dwelled in darkness. A young girl sat in the gloom by a sheet metal shack; she played with figures constructed from debris while a short, thin man garbed in his grandfather’s worn jeans and a Levi jacket stumbled along railroad tracks. He searched for his hut in the shanty town, but in his stupor, he forgot what his hut looked like. He forgot why he took his week's earnings and spent it on Bangla. He forgot the gaunt face of his surviving daughter. He forgot the tears streaking his wife's cheeks when her breasts dried. He forgot the tiny box their son fit in.
	A rail spike tripped the man, and the girl heard the muted thwack of flesh as it struck steel. The thin man grumbled and scraped the ground about him with his arms to make a pillow from the rubbish. Blood blurred his vision. He patted the ground until his calloused hands found a bolt of burlap that he pulled about his body. He did not hear the voice of his daughter call out in warning.
	The Earth groaned and shook under the weight and speed of a freight train.
_______________

	The morning train wakes Faria. She rises and brushes off stubborn grains of sand before gently shaking her mother. “Mā,” Faria says, “Mā, what’s for breakfast?”
	“No, no food,” Faria’s mother replies in Bengali.
	“Are you going to work today, Mā?”
	Faria’s mother rolls over on the stack of cardboard, “No, you go. I am tired.”
	“Mā, the recycling center won’t…”
	“Faria! Just, just go, girl. Your Mā is tired.”
	Faria stomps across the dirt floor of the shack to a torn tarpaulin separating the hut from the outside world. Next to the threshold are three pegs, one for a Levi jacket, one for her mother’s burnt red and white sari, and one for Faria’s floral sari.
	It only covers Faria’s torso now, so she wears it over her patchwork pants and yellow blouse, which forgot that it once was white. Faria slips on her father’s worn flip-flops and takes with her the coarse plastic bag.
	“Mā, I love you,” Faria says. Her mother grunts and rolls away. Faria steps through the threshold. 
The Earth groans and shakes under the weight and speed.
	It rushes in front of Faria. Around her clustered people cling to their shacks, waiting for the freight to pass. A toddler stumbles in front of Faria and she snatches the little one back, “Arjun! You know better.”
	“Sorry,” Arjun mutters.
	The train passes and Faria sees Arjun’s mother across the tracks holding an infant, “Arjun! Oh, thank you, Faria.”
	“You’re welcome. Sima, do you have any food?”
	“No, I don’t. My husband hasn’t come back from fishing.”
	“Oh, thank you.”
	“Wait a moment, Faria,” Sima darts into her shack and returns with a jug of water, “Here, you go.”
	“Thank you, Sima!” Faria smiles as she brings the jug to her lips. The warm water softens her cracked lips and splashes into her empty stomach. Gathering her waste bag and water she begins walking south along the tracks.
Faria collects plastic waste dumped from the trains and blown in from the city for Tapu, the manager of the recycling center. It is a few kilometers from her home and she likes to take her time. She meanders along rummaging through piles to find worthwhile plastics and rubber. Today there seems to be less, or others were out before her. Hours pass like this and she has only collected enough to fill her bag a quarter of the way. This will not be enough to buy a meal for herself or her mother. Half the bag will bring in enough for her to eat, but she needs a full bag to feed her mother as well.
	Faria knows then she will have to stop at the rubbish dump, a floating pile of cast-offs atop a pond. The sight of it causes her heart to flutter and her palms to sweat, months ago she was playing there and fell into fetid water below. It poured into her mouth, lungs, and stomach. She couldn’t clamber out as she coughed and gasped. Then her father was there in his Levi jacket, and he pulled her to safety.
	For a week after Faria lay in the shack. She threw up all she managed to eat and shat the rest of it out. Her father patiently cleaned her each time even though he barely slept. With her mother about to give birth and Faria bed-laden her father cooked and cared for both of them. He switched to the night shift at the aluminum factory to be at home for them during the day.
	Faria does not want to go back to that dump. This time her father wouldn’t be around if she fell through. She had a little way to go before she would be forced to stop. So, she slowed her crawling speed and sifted item by item through the piles.
	Underneath a mound of paper bags and shattered glass bottles Faria spots the end of something burnt orange. Excavating through layers of trash with a plastic spoon she unearths a copper pipe as long as her gangly arms. Her eyes go wide. This copper would be enough to feed Mother and her for a week. Looking about she sees no one else in sight and she hurriedly stashes the copper in her sack.
        Her stomach grumbles as she makes for the recycling center. When no other kids are about, Faria runs and when she hears the laughter of others she slows and picks through rubbish piles. This works, for a while. Then the wind carries the scent of rotten fish and fruits mixed with factory chemicals. 
        Her pupils dilate and veins constrict as she skirts the dump. Past fears arise in her mind and mingle with a present danger. A pack of boys on the same side of the tracks calls out to her. Their words are lost as the Earth’s grumbling grows louder. She does not need to hear them to know what they want. The biggest boy is known to beat and steal what he can. The Earth shakes under Faria’s feet and she grins at the feral boys.
        Faria scrambles to the other side of the train tracks and dashes ahead to the recycling center. Tapu may be harsh, but he won't tolerate stealing. She runs with the thunder of the train.
Seeing her dash, the pack leader sprints to beat the train. His bulky form maintained by theft slows him. A blast from the train engine pierces the air and warns the boy not to attempt it. The boy wails at Faria, but she neither sees nor hears him as she sprints. Faria focuses on overcoming a sharp pain in her upper left stomach which warned her of exhaustion. This is how she comes to Tapu, sweat-drenched and panting.
        “Catch your breath girl. What do you have for me?” Unable to speak, Faria opens her bag and presents the copper to Tapu.
        “Ah, that's why you ran. What else you got?” She dumps the contents at Tapu’s feet who sorts through the items grunting and carefully placing items in different bins. He then weighs each bin and jots numbers down on a pad. Faria meanwhile sits in a shaded corner, enjoying the cool concrete beneath her and sipping Sima's gift. Pleased with herself Faria imagines all the food that she will buy. She thinks of rice and beans. Of fish and lamb. Perhaps she might indulge in some hard candies, hidden so her mother won’t scold her for wasting money.
        “Faria! Get over here”.
‘	“Yes sir!” Faria gives Tapu a mock salute.
        “Most everything was worthless in your bag, but that copper will fetch a fair amount.” He hands Faria an envelope packed to burst, “Your share. Be back tomorrow.” A smile burst across Faria’s face. She grabs the envelope and tucks it in her waistband.
        “Thank you, Tapu!” she calls as she runs out the door heading to Market Street. She leaps over rails, rubble, and rubbish out of the train yard into a packed street. Her small frame slid in and out of the crowd guided by her nose to food vendors who hawked grilled fish and fried chili. From large, fire-stained pots she catches whiffs of lentils in coconut milk. She hears fat sizzling upon a fire, a whole goat roasting on a spit above it. 
        She stops and purchases a jar of chutney and two cold bottles of Clemon soda. She wanders a bit more to enjoy the chaos of Market Street. Her nose leads her to An excitable boy who takes Faria’s order and quickly returns with an oil-soaked paper bag. From which wafts the scent of seared Hilsa fish in a turmeric and chili sauce with her favorite flatbread, paratha. Just like her father used to make.
        Wanting to get back home before the drinks warm Faria jogs the short distance to her hut. Her legs burning from exhaustion, but she relishes the feeling. Stopping outside the shack Faria catches her breath and decides it would be best to sneak in and set up dinner. She wants to wake her mother up to this special dinner and see her smile again.
        Slithering in Faria cautiously places her bundle by the threshold. Then she tip-toes to where the eating mat her Grandmother wove is stowed. Faria quietly gathers the mat and clears an area on the floor. Slowly she rolls it out and reveals a portrait of Ganesha, the god of new beginnings. His elephant head is in profile as he bears a lotus flower in one hand and his broken tusk in the other. In the center she lays out the family pot and fills it with the Hilsa curry, setting the colas on opposite sides.
	Looking down at the setting Faria makes a few minor adjustments. She shifts the curry to be in the exact center. The chutney is appropriately placed within reach of both settings with the paratha next to it. She meticulously spaces the drinks opposite and equidistant from the main dish. Finally, she is satisfied and creeps over to the form on the cardboard bed.
	“Mā, I got something special for us.” Faria attempts to shake her mother awake, “Mā wake up.”
	Turning her mother over, Faria's hand sinks into what feels like mud between her bare toes. Confused she lifts her hand and sees blood clots fall from her fingers. Frantically Faria strips her mother’s blanket away. Cloying iron mixes with the cumin and turmeric in the air nauseating Faria. Opening her mouth to scream Faria instead retches, spewing water and bile across the mat of new beginnings.
	‘Mā! Mā! Wake up, please Mā wake up," bile dribbled down her chin, "Don’t leave me to Mā! Look at what I got for us Mā! Wake up,” Faria sobs into her mother's chest. She shakes her mother. She yells at her mother. She fatigues herself in that raging grief and falls asleep in her mother's stiff embrace.
	Hunger pains wake Faria and she is unable to recall the last time she ate. Rising from her mother’s side she looks at a swarm of flies feasting on the Hilsa curry and chutney, “Mā, do we have any food?”
	There is enough water left from Sima’s gift to wash her mother's blood from her face and hands. She dumps the spoiled dinner into the fire pit with the flat soda. Faria shakes off the Ganesha mat and lays it over her mother. Faria walks to the torn tarpaulin and stows her mother's vibrant sari and her floral one in the coarse bag. Faria puts on her father’s Levi jean jacket and the worn flip-flops. She steps through the threshold.
        The earth groans and shakes under the weight.

Kris Miller lives in South Dakota with his wife and four sons. He is a pre-medical student at the University of South Dakota where he studies Anthropology and Conservation Biology with a minor in Creative Writing. Kris is an Army veteran and was trained to be a Special Forces Medical Sergeant. However, prior to graduating the qualification course, Kris submitted a conscientious objector application as he no longer believed warfare was just. After two years his application was approved and he was honorably discharged as a conscientious objector. He wishes to encourage peace, healing, and equanimity in himself, his readers, and his children through his writing.