Religion In Pirate's Wells (Short Story) Part 1a
I Sun come down strong ‘bout ten. Toilin’ in the tall corn in my rocky field, where the treacherous ground looking to twist my swollen ankles and throw me down, bust up my heavy lips and broad nose with brittle, sharp honeycomb rocks. Heat beat down, hour ’pon hour, till nothing can stand straight no more, except the stalks. Bugs out here too, buzzing and fussing, busy with molesting us. Mosquitoes, horseflies, sand fleas, other bitin’ bugs I don’t even know the name of, waiting on us. Waiting... Sign in to see full entry.