Wither

Sat, 01/24/2015 - 15:16 -- sharpay

Location

"Mama, it's another drought," she said
The winds blow fiercely against the tiny hut
The land, brown and cracked, seemed to dry up even more
There will be no water for days, months, years
How will they survive?
The plants will dry up and shrivel
Their bodies will bake from within
"It's so hot, Mama," she said
Soon they will thirst
They will be forced to accept a new reality
"Look! The plants are still growing," she points
They must have adapted to the harsh weather
Hmm, I wonder...
"Wither!" I command.
 
© 2014 Favour Nerrise

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