Impersonator (Forager Impersonator - A Post Apocalyptic Trilogy Book 1) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Peter R. Stone
not from baubles and trinkets!”
The light that shone from my father’s face as he played with us went out, and he retired to his room, crestfallen.
Tears fell as the memory slipped away. I realised my father’s change in character wasn’t only from the accident and the ensuring three months he spent in prison. My mother’s endless tirade of criticism and disapproval wore away at him over the years, chipping away at his person, his individuality, his character. Long before the accident, he had already faded from life, and from us. The accident and what followed were merely the straws that broke the camel’s back.
Sniffing back tears, I retreated to the kitchen and grabbed a couple of Brandon’s plastic foraging bottles. Their filters strained out silt and dirt when filled with water from natural water sources. I also grabbed three slices of bread left over from dinner, encased them in cling wrap, and nabbed a bag of dried fruit. I popped everything in the backpack, and then crept back to my room, where I added a bag with the assortment of seeds I collected over several years. Pumpkin, carrot, turnip, parsley, wheat, orange, mandarin, and apple seeds, to name a few.
My plan was to find an abandoned farm in the country, plant the seeds, and make a life for myself. Until those seeds produced an edible harvest, I would have to live off the land. Brandon told me what wild fruits and berries to look out for in the bush, even bringing samples back so I knew what they looked like. I don’t know how long I planned to live alone. Maybe once I had settled in, I would scout around to see if I could locate any small towns or villages that had managed to avoid the Skel by sticking together.
Finally, I added a few rolls of toilet paper and sanitary pads, and then hid the bag and the clothes under my bed.
I stood there for a moment, looking at the sleeping forms of my mother and sister, just visible in the pale moonlight coming through the cracks in the worn, floral print curtains. It felt cruel to acknowledge it, but neither of them would miss me. All my mother had ever done, as long as I could remember, was criticise and put me down. She seemed to carry a massive chip on her shoulder against everyone and everything. Except Brandon, perhaps.
I was never close to my sister, either, partly because we had absolutely nothing in common, but mostly because Brandon and I lived in our own world most of the time.
Thinking of Brandon, I was sure going to miss him. Our deep and meaningful conversations, camaraderie, the ability to know exactly what each other was thinking without saying a word. Downhearted, I climbed into bed and tried to sleep.
Chapter Four
Such was my state of mind that I didn’t fall asleep until the sun rose, at which point my mother shook me awake a few minutes later.
“Up you get,” she said.
“I’m not feeling too well,” I groaned. It was true. I felt emotionally and mentally exhausted from having had little sleep.
“Are you sick?” Mother asked.
“I feel terrible.”
I could feel Mother glaring at me. “Get up as soon as you’re able.”
She woke Karen, who dutifully climbed out of bed to attend to her morning duties. “What about her?” she asked as she followed Mother from the room.
“Not feeling well. Apparently.”
“She was fine last night.” Karen frowned at me, not wanting extra kitchen duties.
“Quit fussing and help me get breakfast. Your father will be awake soon.”
I slipped out of bed after they closed the door, and to the sounds of my family preparing breakfast, became my brother, following the steps laid out in my notebook.
The first thing I did was bind my breasts flat. Fortunately, I wasn’t abundantly blessed in that department; otherwise, I would have been in trouble. After that, I dressed in Brandon’s jeans, t-shirt and hoodie.
Next problem was my hair, which was a good six inches longer than his was. It required some amount of dexterity, but I soon
The light that shone from my father’s face as he played with us went out, and he retired to his room, crestfallen.
Tears fell as the memory slipped away. I realised my father’s change in character wasn’t only from the accident and the ensuring three months he spent in prison. My mother’s endless tirade of criticism and disapproval wore away at him over the years, chipping away at his person, his individuality, his character. Long before the accident, he had already faded from life, and from us. The accident and what followed were merely the straws that broke the camel’s back.
Sniffing back tears, I retreated to the kitchen and grabbed a couple of Brandon’s plastic foraging bottles. Their filters strained out silt and dirt when filled with water from natural water sources. I also grabbed three slices of bread left over from dinner, encased them in cling wrap, and nabbed a bag of dried fruit. I popped everything in the backpack, and then crept back to my room, where I added a bag with the assortment of seeds I collected over several years. Pumpkin, carrot, turnip, parsley, wheat, orange, mandarin, and apple seeds, to name a few.
My plan was to find an abandoned farm in the country, plant the seeds, and make a life for myself. Until those seeds produced an edible harvest, I would have to live off the land. Brandon told me what wild fruits and berries to look out for in the bush, even bringing samples back so I knew what they looked like. I don’t know how long I planned to live alone. Maybe once I had settled in, I would scout around to see if I could locate any small towns or villages that had managed to avoid the Skel by sticking together.
Finally, I added a few rolls of toilet paper and sanitary pads, and then hid the bag and the clothes under my bed.
I stood there for a moment, looking at the sleeping forms of my mother and sister, just visible in the pale moonlight coming through the cracks in the worn, floral print curtains. It felt cruel to acknowledge it, but neither of them would miss me. All my mother had ever done, as long as I could remember, was criticise and put me down. She seemed to carry a massive chip on her shoulder against everyone and everything. Except Brandon, perhaps.
I was never close to my sister, either, partly because we had absolutely nothing in common, but mostly because Brandon and I lived in our own world most of the time.
Thinking of Brandon, I was sure going to miss him. Our deep and meaningful conversations, camaraderie, the ability to know exactly what each other was thinking without saying a word. Downhearted, I climbed into bed and tried to sleep.
Chapter Four
Such was my state of mind that I didn’t fall asleep until the sun rose, at which point my mother shook me awake a few minutes later.
“Up you get,” she said.
“I’m not feeling too well,” I groaned. It was true. I felt emotionally and mentally exhausted from having had little sleep.
“Are you sick?” Mother asked.
“I feel terrible.”
I could feel Mother glaring at me. “Get up as soon as you’re able.”
She woke Karen, who dutifully climbed out of bed to attend to her morning duties. “What about her?” she asked as she followed Mother from the room.
“Not feeling well. Apparently.”
“She was fine last night.” Karen frowned at me, not wanting extra kitchen duties.
“Quit fussing and help me get breakfast. Your father will be awake soon.”
I slipped out of bed after they closed the door, and to the sounds of my family preparing breakfast, became my brother, following the steps laid out in my notebook.
The first thing I did was bind my breasts flat. Fortunately, I wasn’t abundantly blessed in that department; otherwise, I would have been in trouble. After that, I dressed in Brandon’s jeans, t-shirt and hoodie.
Next problem was my hair, which was a good six inches longer than his was. It required some amount of dexterity, but I soon
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