Boris's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Boris carried the last basket of turnips to the table and set it down among the others. The harvest had been good this year. Everyone would eat well tonight. His hands were still dirty from the fields, but he had come anyway because they always gathered here at the end of the season. The long wooden table stretched across the clearing, heavy with what he had grown. Roasted squash. Fresh bread. Bowls of berries. A voice called his name from the far end. He looked up. There, standing beside an empty chair, was the person who made everything feel like it mattered. They smiled and gestured to the seat beside them. His throat went dry. Everyone was watching now. He had run out of reasons to stay in the fields. His feet carried him forward before his mind could argue.