By Martin Hadfield
Imagine, the things they’ve seen:
Dragged from their sleep into bright, white light. Packed tightly together like cattle into trucks—jostling and colliding in confusion and woe. Bruised and dumped from the trucks onto concrete, they’re separated from their families by those who see only inanimate objects. Dispatched north, south, east, and west to their disparate fates, many will freeze under icy skies or wither from the heat. Before being delivered to their final fate, many are whipped, skinned, and even boiled. From Ireland to Idaho they are treated like a blight to society.
Why would God curse potatoes with eyes?
Oh those poor potatoes!
Unique!
Love this. You drew me in and kept my curiosity alive right to the end; a sign of a great writer. Keep on writing I would like to read more.
P.S As an Irish woman who loves her spuds, I felt sorry for them in the end
Thanks you Mary for the encouraging comments. Wait ’til I start on the ears of corn!!
Martin
Loved it.
Very clever… well done… you pulled at my heart strings…lol…
Love it!
Made it sound like it was about holocaust victims, but no, it was about…potatoes
cute!!
Brilliant!! I feel like a mad murderer now after my plate of spuds. Very good, great pace