Tragedy

That night, Crimson struggled to sleep. He rustled around the floor, trying to find any place that was even a little comfortable.

With dust getting in his hair and rubbing against his skin, it was almost impossible to have a good night's sleep.

Past midnight, a knock sounded at their tin door. His father slowly stood up and answered the knock.

Crimson remembered this day vividly. He could hear the slow creak, and the words that occurred next.

A deep voice exclaimed, "Hello, Driffen. I believe we need to hold a talk with you."

There was a pause, where Crimson imagined the person talking glanced at his 'sleeping' body.

"Outside." The voice then said.

"Yes, sir..." His father's frail voice answered as they made their way around the small shack.

Despite that, Crimson could still hear their conversation. What did they expect? The walls were less than one inch in thickness.

Crimson closely followed the conversation.