Page 66 - B. Ing_Antologi Cerpen Xl-6

But Prawiro didn’t care about Jaka's words. He
was busy counting the money he had grabbed from
Jaka’s hands, then stuffed it into his shirt
pocket—without giving Jaka even a single coin. Life
under Prawiro Ngabdul’s roof felt like a prison for Jaka
and Laras, with no way out. They had no real rest—only
at night, and even that was short. Before sunrise, they
had to wake up and start cleaning the house with wet
rags and broomsticks, prepare meals using firewood that
took a long time to burn, fetch water from the well
bucket by bucket, and then head to the market to work at
the rice warehouse.

That routine repeated itself every single day
without end, until Jaka turned 14. One day, as Jaka and
Laras were walking home from the warehouse, they were
shocked to see a crowd of people running with buckets of
water. Thick black smoke was rising high from the
direction of their house, along with the panicked screams
of neighbors. Jaka and Laras hurried their steps, their
bodies starting to tremble as they saw what was
happening. The house they lived in with their uncle was
on fire—flames had grown large and were devouring the
wooden walls. Laras stood frozen, her eyes wide with
disbelief. Several neighbors were trying to put out the
fire using buckets of water they had drawn from a nearby
well, but the flames only grew larger, fanned by the

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