The day I was orphaned..

In the lush beautiful fields of grains and fruits ran us three with no fear of separation from dusk to dawn under the superior guidance of our mother whose sense of our enemies of the town was far reaching and something to envy of, and in the tour we landed upon a huge mud walled house with wet exteriors and a wooden door which upon a gentle nudge from our mother let out a little fart but opened up a sight of such immense beauty that no words here could describe the feeling the three of us shared at that very moment, an adrenaline rush we could say in our hunger, that in our glee we ran towards the pile of produces from the grassland that had been assembled so very neatly in alphabetical order and descending sizes arranged bottom to top, and we danced upon the accumulated pile of fruits and grains in celebration with such infinite joy accompanied by festive mood shrieks and yells, which had unwittingly invited the notice of the farm house owner who from his .30 caliber gun shot at us sporadically with no specific aim and spelling obscenities which I won’t utter here in my bitter recollection; but bullets whizzed past us mashing the fruits, the chips of which spluttered all around us while we ran for cover and hid in an obscure end with Death’s open palms reaching the crevices of the piled stock in search of us late until midnight, when the search was over and we stepped out furtively with our mother leading us from the front, and there lay ahead of her, the cynosure of our eyes – the ever radiant Cheese, hanging like a angel from the sky, and our unwitting mother in the urge of securing it let down her guard for the first (and last time) and there came a thunderous clap that resonated throughout the household and there lay our mother in front of us walking around the steel trap and muttering with rage, “Rats!!”.

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