The sun was barely waking up as Marco scattered chicken feed across the exposed earth. Hens came pouring out of their coop to wait their turn to peck at the feed.
Right, what's next? Oh, yeah, water.
Marco went to the well on the grounds and fetched two buckets worth of water. He marched it back beneath the weak haze of sunlight that broke through the miles-thick cloud of dust that hung in the air over the cornfield to the flock.
All the chickens drank the water with greed and Marco plotted down on the ground in front of them, his work was done, but it had taken its toll on him. Every day for the past week, Mr. Muller has woken him up at five a.m. sharp to feed and water the pigs, tend the lawn, and feed and water the chickens. It was hard work, but all his years of sports gave him the endurance necessary to push through.
"Marco! You finish up all them chores?" He heard Mr. Muller call from the house.
"Yes sir, Mr. Muller!" Marco called back.
"Alright, go on and fetch Clay from the barn and come on in for lunch." The old farmer said before retreating into the house.
Ah, man. He couldn't go get him?
Marco has successfully avoided speaking with Clay since they began their stay at the Muller Farm. They had been assigned chores in separate areas and maintained a mutual silence at night when they had to sleep in the same room.
Marco pushed himself up off the ground and walked down to the barn. The paint on the well-worn building was new, Marco, Clay, and Mr. Muller repainted it two days ago. Inside, the smell of livestock was overwhelming, but Marco pushed past it and found Clayton, black hat and all, milking Betsy.
"You done yet? Mr. Muller is calling us in tah eat."
"Damn near." Clay replied, in a low, hollow tone.
Marco picked up the other bucket that was filled with paper white milk.
"I can take 'em both in, I don't need yer help." Clay said, not stopping his work.
"Whatever. I'll see you inside." Marco grumbled. He carried the pail back into the house and set it on the table.
"Thank you, Marco, dear." Mrs. Muller said, taking the pail and setting it inside.
"No problem, Mrs. Muller. What are you cooking? It smells great!" Marco asked.
"Nothin' fancy, just some hot cakes, eggs, and bacon."
Marco's mouth watered. Mrs. Muller had made Marco three meals a day for six days and not one of them had been less than delicious. He sat at the table and eagerly awaited his plate.
"Excuse me, mister, are you forgettin' somethin'?" Mrs. Muller chided.
"Oh, right, sorry." Marco hopped up and washed his hands in the kitchen sink before returning to his seat and being given an appreciative nod from Mrs. Muller.
Clay came in with his pail and set it aside. The boy went and immediately washed his hands before taking the seat opposite Marco at the table. Clay sat there staring at the tabletop so that his eyes would be obscured by his hat.
"Clay, no hats at the table." Mrs. Muller corrected.
"Sorry, Ma'am." He grumbled, removing the black cowboy hat and getting up to place it on the ornate hat rack by the door. Mr. Muller came from around the corner and took his place at the head of the table.
"Good work out there, boys. You did a mighty fine job."
"Thank you, Mr. Muller." Clayton and Marco replied in unison.
YOU ARE READING
SUPERWORLD
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