Sara Garrett
Stories (2)
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The Farm
The smell, Ansel blindly supposed to himself, was always the thing he dreaded most. The thought slipped listlessly in and out, as the twinge of guilt he always felt at such times nagged at him gently. Ansel was earnestly, if not a little gravely, aware of his good fortune. Most of his brother’s and sister’s chores on the farm were a great deal more grim; and that was putting it lightly, he thought glumly. Nonetheless, his job was quite simple, and not entirely unpleasant if he was being completely honest. He was in charge of swatting down the cobwebs from the simple wooden slatted rafters that covered the porch that surrounded a little less than half of the cattle pen. Then he was to wash the windows that did completely surround the slaughterhouse.
By Sara Garrett5 years ago in Fiction
The Farm
The smell, Ansel blindly supposed to himself, was always the thing he dreaded most. The thought slipped listlessly in and out, as the twinge of guilt he always felt at such times nagged at him gently. Ansel was earnestly, if not a little gravely, aware of his good fortune. Most of his brother’s and sister’s chores on the farm were a great deal more grim; and that was putting it lightly, he thought glumly. Nonetheless, his job was quite simple, and not entirely unpleasant if he was being completely honest. He was in charge of swatting down the cobwebs from the simple wooden slatted rafters that covered the porch that surrounded a little less than half of the cattle pen. Then he was to wash the windows that did completely surround the slaughterhouse.
By Sara Garrett5 years ago in Futurism
