Not Waking Up

“Commander, I’ll kill him.” Another soldier stepped forward.

The man shook his head and wrenched the knife out of Rastaban’s hand easily. He was still smiling. “Don’t. This child has spirit. One of the few of this village who genuinely fought back. He’s what - five, six years old?”

“Six,” Rastaban said indignantly, still trying to squirm free. “Wake up my mother! I want you to wake her up right now!”

The man scanned the hut and then said, “Your mother’s not waking up, child.”

“Why?”

“She’s dead, brat,” another soldier said.

The man frowned. “You can’t say it like that.”