english story
...ould choke any human, but somehow I seem to survive. Finally the day is at a beginning, walking and grazing these unseeded fields, making me speculate about what could ever grow here, with the undying sun and no revitalizing rain water to enhance the growth of this almost dead like field. My associates glare with vacant eyes knowing full well what we all imagine is when will the day come when all this anguish and ordeal will end, when will we rest in peace, when will we breathe our last. Coming from a land of prosperous fields, and adequate weather, seemed only a vision to go back to, yet I was advertised and sold like a slave for less than a packet of rice, which angered me, but there was no way to express my feelings as I would assume my fellow associates have experienced. Its now midday as the sun blazes right above my head and still walking up and down across, left to right. This was a routine at first but soon became my life. A life I wish that I were proud of upholding my name to, yet I was infuriated the way I was being treated in such an inhumane manner. People little children sniggering at the fact my feces is a public display, a freak show, which every human watching clearly seemed amused. Thinking of homeland, I was given the decency of some privacy, not here though. My owner takes a break to reenergize himself while I’m left to wonder out on the patches scavenging for any patches of grass where I could fulfil my stomachs desires, knowing full well that might never happen. Its now just past midday and my owners back, this time he directs the whole heard to another patch of field, almost the precise mimic of the previous patch, another dead unseeded field that would hold no life of growth. Grazing starts almost immediately of moving, transporting out the precise routine, with grazed, open wounded soles, hauled through uncut, clustered soil which has taken its toll on these sols, yet I am still fit to work, but looking at my owner he looks back at me, and for that moment we understand each others pain, and know whatever position we were in right know was who we were and that was to be, to be accepted. I soon realised why my owner relied on me, this thin sickle man barley able to stand, prepping me and old worn out mechanical machinery used, which clearly needs a long rest. The sun is know starting to set, but work is just at ...