The gourd

T carried the gourd wherever he went. The gourd was the last thing his grandmother had given T, aside from a kiss, before she pushed him into the night and the empty sand, away from the screams and the cries and the gunshots.

The gourd was dried and painted red, and on top of the red someone had brushed in black the story of V, who had loved F once and followed him into the mountains and made the beginnings of T’s family.

T carried the gourd wherever he went, and at the very end they buried him with it.

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