Every Forever Day, a short short story

Green green fields washin’ over him’  Green leaves, green stems smotherin’ the red fruit.

Spittin’ blood, wipin’ sweat, cadgin’ the life outa him.

“Go boy, you two boxes behind,” say Red.

Hands crampin’, fingers blisterin’, nails splittin’, sun pourin’ down.  Gotta fill them boxes, gotta rid that debt.

“You full up, boy; heft that box, heft it up,” say Red.

“Tired’a Red, sick’a Red, wishin’ him dead.

“Here’s one more box, boy.  Fill it afore break and yer back on quota.”

Bendin’, kneelin’, pickin’, back on quota, God knows.

Speaker callin’ break.  Sittin’ back, breathin’ bad air a sip at a time, thinkin’a Jenny.  Soft yellow hair, snub nose, kissin’ lips, too tired for much more.  Stronger’n him, smarter’n him, sweeter’n ten flats of berries.

Kissin’ in the dark ‘tween cabins.

Red buttin’ in.  “You two havin’ a good time?  Your mother know, Artie?”

“Not your business, Red,” Jenny say.  Knows he’ll go away.  Had some doin’s with him before.

“One more kiss and that’s all,” Jenny say.

Lickin’ those lips, tastin’ that juice, livin’ in hope every day, every forever day.


Published by monkmoonman

I'm a soapbox Irishman with a fever to set things right in the world. I write stories and poems about the planned genocide of Native Americans, the troubles of youngsters trapped in Special Ed classes, and the fallacy of celibacy in the Catholic church. If you're feverish like me, tune me in.

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