Liability

        After gathering a small pile of kindling along with an average sized log, Peter went to work trying to start a cooking fire. He had been cooking like this ever since he was a boy, so it didn’t take him long for him to coax a flame into existence. He set up the rusty metal grill his father had found in what was supposedly an old rubbish dump. Peter was revolted by the wastefulness of his ancestors: it seemed to him like they would throw away perfectly good tools and equipment if they saw so much as a fingernail sized crack on an otherwise perfect item. These days, such a foolish attitude would lead to death by starvation within a month. Nobody could afford to be choosy anymore. 

        Unscrewing the cap of his dark green canteen, Peter poured its contents into the largest pot he owned and set it to boil over the fire. He watches the slightly murky water carefully. He had to add the meager ingredients he had prepared at just the right time to make sure everything tasted okay. Once the water had begun to boil enough to eliminate most of its impurities, Peter added the ingredients he had managed to find. Most of them were nothing special: a few edible mushrooms, some small tubers, a handful of wild onions. What really had Peter excited was the squirrel he had managed to trap.

        Peter used to be able to get his hands on meat much more easily. Back then, he would be able to catch a rabbit or some other small game animal every other day with his trusty bow and arrow. He had even managed to catch a deer on occasion which would allow him and his wife to feast for a few days. Now that Peter’s former hunting partner, Jasper, was so decrepit that Peter could barely get the hound to haul his rear end outside to do his business, Peter never had much luck hunting anymore. Without Jasper to point animals out before they spotted him, Peter was forced to rely on handmade traps to get any meat. This scrawny squirrel was the first source of protein he had managed to snap up in over a week.

        Peter dropped the tiny bits of meat into the pot almost reverently. He couldn’t help imagining what the pieces would taste like once they were cooked. In reality they were meager and somewhat chewy since the squirrel had been elderly and somewhat emaciated, but Peter imagined them as succulent morsels that would add some much needed flavor to the stew. Just the thought of fresh meat made Peter start salivating as he gave the stew an occasional stir with his wooden spoon to keep it from burning. It was abundantly clear that Peter desperately needed a good meal; he could easily make out his own ribs standing out like sticks covered in skin. He had very little meat on his bones; the stew’s minuscule chunks seemed excessive in comparison. Despite his own needs, Peter firmly believed that his wife should have his portion of the meal tonight.

        Jenny hadn’t been out of the bedroom she shared with her husband since the leaves had created a crunchy brownish orange carpet on the ground. She had been weakening for quite some time. Ever since she had lost that baby she had barely managed to find the strength to eat. Peter was more than slightly irritated at that tiny creature for passing away so easily. He had passed out from exhaustion in the middle of a foraging trip on multiple occasions just trying to keep his pregnant wife well fed enough so that the infant could live. It had done nothing in return but make Jenny throw up half of the precious food she consumed, confine the woman to the house once her stomach began to feel like a melon sized mass of lead, and die of a respiratory infection just weeks after it was born.

        It had been a relief for Peter to have one less burden to feed; however, he did feel like his heart was being stabbed by dozens of needles of grief for the unfortunate little infant. It had been born in the wrong era. Instead of being a blessing, it had been little more than a wailing misery maker that did nothing productive whatsoever. Peter’s heart still moaned when he imagined the much needed joy his son would have brought into his life once he had groan enough to help him gather wood, plants, and, eventually, meat for his family. Alas, that was not meant to be. The feeble thing had perished, weakening its mother’s ever sensitive heart until she fell terribly ill. It was her fault her son had died according to her logic: she hadn’t even been able to ease its suffering as it had coughed its miserable little life away. Peter could have used the body to help him attract a scavenger to kill, but even he wouldn’t stoop that low despite his desperate state. He had buried the body with his own two hands, scooping away handfuls of soil until he was certain that nothing would smell and devour it. He had even held a small funeral for it even though such ceremonies no longer had any real meaning anymore.

        Lost in his gloomy thoughts, Peter almost didn’t notice when the stew finished cooking. He moved the pot away from the hungry flames that were licking its bottom. Peter carefully ladled some of the stew into a little wooden bowl he has carved himself before his knife had been stolen by one of the few, incredibly desperate men who still roamed the earth. He put a small spoon in the bowl before beginning his walk to the bedroom. The stew was bubbling slightly; giving off such an enticing aroma that it took all of Peter’s willpower not to shove the steaming contents straight into his mouth. He gently eased the door to the bedroom open so as not to accidentally wake her if she was sleeping, wincing as the hinges creaked. Peter placed the bowl of stew on the nightstand next to a music box that placed a sweet little tune that had no real purpose other than to make the people around it happy. That worthless thing stunk at its job. Peter sucked in a deep breath through his mouth as he hurriedly snatched the full chamberpot from under the bed and dumped it several meters away from their dwelling. 

        With that particular bit of unpleasantness over with, Peter went back to the bedroom, nearly tripping over Jasper as he entered. The dog gave a pitiful whine. Peter stood at his wife’s bedside. She had not improved since yesterday: she was still incredibly pale, her eyes were still dull, and she still looked like a corpse someone had recently managed to resurrect. Jenny’s face brightened up slightly when she noticed her husband nearby. She gave him a small smile and held out her hand. Peter took the bony hand in his own and gave it a kiss. Little acts of love were all that ever seemed to make the kind woman feel even slightly better, so Peter always made sure to give his wife plenty of this effective medicine whenever he saw her. 

        Peter offered the piping hot bowl of stew to Jenny. She looked at it suspiciously. “You haven’t eaten yet, have you? I won’t have a single spoonful until you have some yourself. After that, you should still feed Jasper before you worry about this bag of bones.” Peter tried to argue. Jenny wouldn’t let him. She was very sick and possibly even dying, but she would be damned if she let her husband neglect himself while she was still around. “I insist. You made this all by yourself without me even finding a single crumb to add to it. Heck, I can barely even get up long enough to use that filthy old chamberpot anymore.”

        Peter scowled. He absolutely hated hearing her talk about herself like that. Jenny might not be physically capable of doing much, but she was the only thing that gave Peter a reason to live. Without her, he might as well end his own pathetic existence before starvation or perhaps a disease did it for him. “I’ll take Jasper out to track down something for him to eat after this. For now, you’re all I’m worried about, my dear.” Peter took a spoonful of stew and ate it before offering the next one to Jenny. She chuckled slightly at her husband’s stubbornness before taking the spoonful. The two of them continued this ritual until all of the stew was gone. It hadn’t filled either of them, yet they both felt content now that the person they loved the most had been taken care off. 

        Peter made sure his wife was nice and snug under the thin cotton sheets before he dragged Jasper out of the room into the woods, hopefully deep enough that she couldn’t hear what happened. Hopefully she would believe him when he said that a wolf got to him. Then she wouldn’t question the strange taste of tomorrow’s meal. He took his bow and a single arrow. Jasper was a largely sedentary beast; Peter would only need one shot to end the hound’s suffering and lessen his own.