Mag 117 — forgiveness

Sitting on either side of Manuela at the table, both boys were thinking the same thing. She was the latest arrival at the center and would be asked by the missionaries to offer the blessing before all the children were allowed to eat. She seemed in shock and detached and they wanted to warn her about the rule.

Hoi said, "You will be asked if you want to say grace before the meal."

Banjo added in a whisper, "It will not be a request, but an order."

Manuela smelled the fishy broth and sweet fruit in front of them. She was no longer starving because she had been given hard bread, rice, and juice while en route to the center, but the thought of fresh food made her stomach rumble. The sound reminded her of nighttime warfare in the hills miles from her father's house. She sighed, remembering how the faraway rumbling grew closer and closer, then shivered thinking about the end of her world.

"I will do what I must to survive," she told them. Her words held forgiveness for the boys who three months before had slaughtered her family while she hid under her cot — boys as young as Hoi and Banjo.

Written for The Mag: Mag 117 that inspired with the above photo prompt
(The Meal, Paul Gauguin, 1891).

.