KISA 006 · STORIES THAT LEAVE A QUESTION.

The Key

By the time Adam came through the door, Yari had learned to sleep sitting up. Forty-three people were spending the night in the town hall. Each time the rain struck the zinc roof a little harder, somebody’s child woke.

Adam carried his daughter in both arms. One small red shoe stuck out from under his coat.

Three months earlier, at a public meeting in this very room, he had named Yari’s family and argued that people of their faith should be made to leave town. His daughter had been wearing those shoes then, too. Yari remembered because the little girl had spent the whole meeting trying to tie them.

There was room for two more mattresses.

Miriam, whose windows had been broken the night after the meeting, recognized him. She quietly began rolling up her blanket.

“Where are you going?” Yari asked.

“I came here so I could sleep.”

Adam heard. He lowered his eyes. “Tell me where to take her.”

The school uphill was dry. Someone would have to open it, heat it and stay there with them. Yari’s brother could cover the hall for an hour. After that, he was due home to look after their mother.

The little girl’s shoelace dragged in the water coming off her father’s coat.

Yari had the keys to both buildings. Which door should she open?

A note to the reader: This is original fiction. The choices are not tests of character and there are no points to win. Your selection is not recorded, stored, or shared.

Companion essay · PIPO 019 — Love Your Neighbor as Yourself →

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