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The End of the Road 
by Rie Sheridan Rose

We were starving. That’s the truth of it. And Mother couldn’t even get out of bed anymore. God only knows where Father had gone. He shouldered his axe one morning and left the cabin whistling. That was six months ago, in the hopeful spring. Now, winter is coming, and we haven’t seen him since. Leaving me the man of the house, and Gretal stuck mothering us all. The twins are only five, and the babe should be at Mother’s breast, but she can no longer feed him. I knew I had to do something.

There was nothing left to sell except Mother’s wedding brooch and ring. Cheap things at best, but all we had left. I know she wanted Gretal to have them, but we had no choice.

My sweet sister smiled bravely as she handed me the little pouch of jewelry. “I don’t really need geegaws like these. Bread and milk will be far more valuable to me.”

It was just like Gretal to put herself last. If I found any other way, I’d take it.

First things first, though. Sitting here in the cabin around the fire we were already feeding with twigs and bark was not an option. I had to go find us a way to survive the winter.

There was no point in filling my pockets with breadcrumbs to mark the way—as I had heard of others doing. I couldn’t take the food from the littles. Instead, I turned to the one other marker I could think of—the yarn from Mother’s wicker box.

In happier times, she had been known far and wide for her knitting. People came from miles around to buy her creations. Now, she could no longer hold the needles, and Gretal had never learned the skill.

It was a lucky happenstance. With the multi-colored balls of yarn, I could leave myself a trail and venture further than I had been before to see if I could find work or sell the jewelry for a better price. My spirits rose at the thought.

I rose early the next morning, filling my rucksack with the yarn, and my pockets with a morsal of bread and the little pouch of jewelry. I hugged my mother and Gretal, patted the twins on their heads and kissed the babe goodbye.

“Be careful, Hansel,” Gretal whispered, tears standing in her eyes. “The woods are full of dangers.”

“I will be back before you miss me,” I replied gently.

“Impossible. It’s too late for that.”

Suppressing my emotions, I stepped into the chill morning. There was a bite to the air that warned we might have left the journey too late. But I couldn’t let myself think so.

I tied one of the strands of yarn to the rail of the porch. My starting guide. Momentarily, I considered if I should double or treble the yarn to make it stronger—but doing so would also cut the distance I could travel. I resigned myself to Fate and began to pay out the line as I walked away from the cabin.

It was an adventure, at first, snaking the yarn through the trees as I searched for the best path. But by the end of the day, I was down to my last ball of yarn and feeling cold and dejected. I hadn’t seen a single cabin all day, much less a village or town where I might sell the jewelry. It seemed all in vain.

But, as the sun set behind the trees, I spotted a glimmer of light in the distance. Might that be a place to shelter the night, if nothing more?

I walked forward eagerly—and the yarn pulled out of my hand, the last length spent.

What should I do?

I could travel toward the light…but if there were no shelter to be had there, how would I find my lone strand of yarn again? I could hunker here for the night…but the wind already bit through my thin jacket with hungry teeth…

It appears I have reached the end of the road. For us all.

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Fiction © Copyright Rie Sheridan Rose
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com

More from Author Rie Sheridan Rose:

Overheard in Hell:
Dark Poetry

Poems exploring hell and damnation. Tales of sorrow, vengeance, betrayal, and redemption. Ghosts, ghouls, and demons stalk these pages. Don’t read in a lonely house…in a darkened room by a single candle…

…unless you like the touch of an icy finger up your spine.

Available on Amazon!