Yesterday I buried my firstborn. Today I walk 10 miles for water to keep my other children alive. I do not cry.
My muscles burn as I balance the heavy load on my head. The weight pushes my blistered, bleeding feet deeper into the scorching earth. I do not cry.
There is not enough for dinner again. I feed my babies, they need strength to fight the disease sweeping through the village. My stomach screams out in hunger. I do not cry.
A white man comes with tales of laughing people who film themselves as buckets of water are poured over their heads. I can’t stop my tears.
Written for Friday Fictioneers. A 100 word story inspired by a photo prompt.