A memoir
Submitted by Rhys M on 4/1/2010 7:03 PM
February, 28th, 2010.
The rain had been going on for days and only now subsided--still, the frost tipped pellets of water nipped at ones face should they tread outside. The Fall harvest yielded little crop for the family and what food there was made a pittance to the Oliver Twist appear more lavish than a Lords banquet. None the less, there I sit, two iron rings hanging beneath my eyes, the rails of which rose up and removed from sight under the cover of salt and pepper. My gaze never penetrated the yellowish and blue hues so intensely; starved & asking myself; "Who stole my Butterfinger?"