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Weekly Contest #231
In the rolling hills of a Bamba village, where the air is always thick with the smell of blooming flowers and damp soil, Caleb was a name that echoed with a mix of disdain and mirth. He was the village drunk, a title he wore like a badge of honor. Caleb's days were spent meandering through the dusty paths that snaked between the huts, a bottle of cheap liquor always clasped in his calloused hands. His arrival in any part of the village was heralded by a cacophony of barks from the local dogs, who had learned to associate the jangle of his bo...
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