Creative Writing Challenge 2.4 - Family

---

---

13:30

Pain throbbed throughout Hristo’s lower back. He took a minute to stretch, enjoying the soft cracking of his bones sorting themselves into place before he climbed up the ladder.

Just a few finishing touches and the messroom would be complete. They had welded together the frame, brought in metal sheets from another old building to make a roof, and filled that roof with mineral wool to insulate through the winter. The windows were in place and trimmed, the wood just needed this coat of paint to brighten it up.

Thick blue color dripped down onto Hristo’s boots as he worked, bringing a splash of cheer rather than stress. The boots were well worn, each scuff a reminder of something worthwhile. This only gave them more character.

Time passed quickly as he made his way around the outside walls. The sound of laughter and spraying water let him know that a couple of the boys had decided to finish the day early and cool off with the hose. The joys of youth, Hristo thought with a smile, as he picked up the ladder and brought it to the next window.

When each window frame had received its second coat of paint, Hristo stood back and surveyed the scene before him. A few boys horsing around, a few young men and women tidying up the lawn, little Anna laying on her back blowing bubbles toward the sky. This was his legacy. Not the building, which of course would be put to good use, but the family who had constructed it. Orphans, all of them, left stranded and alone in a harsh world that didn’t care if they ever found a home.

Brought together, they built one, and in building one, they were brought together.

Hristo took a seat on the grass, leaning his sore back against a tree as the end of summer air brushed against his face.

16:00

Boyan untied the shirt from around his waist and used it to wipe the sweat from his neck. The month’s work under the sun had left his shoulders bronze and his fingernails black. He picked up his water bottle. Too warm to drink, so he poured the remainder of it over his head, rubbing the moisture into his scalp before heading to the cooler.

The ice cubes had long since melted, and he dipped his hand into cold water to fish out two bottles of beer. Resisting the temptation to press them against his back, he walked over to the spot in the shade where his mentor was relaxing.

He may have called Hristo his mentor, but the man was far more than that. He was a father, and a friend. When Boyan ran away from the orphanage, Hristo had been there to take him in. When Boyan dropped out of school, Hristo had given him a job. The old man was tough but fair, holding him to standards that nobody had ever expected him to be able to rise to.

So when Boyan decided that he did want to finish school after all, it was more than financial support that Hristo had given him. It was pride in himself.

When Boyan moved to Sofia to put that education to use, Hristo was only a phone call away. And when Boyan asked for a month’s worth of vacation time, Hristo was waiting to welcome him home.

Such a home it was. The laughter of young boys, boys just like he had been once, filled the air with a vibrant energy. He sat next to Hristo, offering a beer before raising his own bottle in a toast.

“To the future,” he said, stretching his tired legs in front of him.

Hristo smiled.

“To the future.”

---

---

This is a work that mixes fiction with fact.

Hristo Atanasov is a real person, and the messroom he built is a real building.

The rest was created as part of a tribute to this great man in Task #4 of the Second Creative Writing Challenge run by @steemfluencer!

Images used are by @hristoatanasov - please show your support!

💚

---