This next posting should be updated daily, and is for the exercise of my brain through writing and remembering small facts from each day. This story may take unexpected turns, but it is ultimately for the recovery of my brain after a brain injury. It is to be a complete work of fiction on a forgotten era of human life.
I have recently found a writing that was translated from the year 411. This year, a Conference of Carthage took place. This was a debate between the Donatists and the Catholics. I will attempt to build a storyline around Carthage, possibly this event, but with as many truthful events as possible surrounding my fictitious figures.
Within the walls of the small garden, a brown rat scampered back and forth, gathering wheat kernels from the ragged hole she had chewed in the wheat sack that lay discarded in the weed-infested garden. From the walls of the garden issued the cry of a warbler in their shy, throaty notes. The sea breezes floated in and touched the olive trees’ huge, unpruned crown and quietly passed over a sleeping form on the bench near the gate.
From outside the gate issued noises of a busy Mediterranean city, Carthage. Wheels of carts on cobbled streets, shouts of men at impudent animals, and the distant din of a market.
The garden seemed at sharp contrast to the world outside its gates. Where the world outside rapidly grew and changed, the small world within the gates appeared frozen in time. Even the figure sleeping near the gate appeared to be frozen in time. Their small, olive face was surrounded with dark hair, and their form was covered with a too large and fraying tunic stuck to their sweaty body. A beetle crawled across their arm and caused them to stir. Although the arms moved and the eyes opened, the little figure’s legs never moved.
nursing jan 