Jane Jago’s Drabbles – Three Hundred and Seventy-Seven

It was freezing cold in the stubble, but Grandma brought the littlies out anyway. They stood in a line looking at the smoke from the pie plant.

It was Joah who broke the silence.

“Looks warm over there.”

“Aye,” Grandma spat a stream of yellow saliva onto the frozen ground. “I dare say it is.”

“So why don’t we go there?”

“Because we like being alive.”

For a long moment nobody spoke, then a thin scream came to their ears on the fitful breeze.

“Is that?”

“Sure is. Some poor soul lured in out of the cold. Pie meat now.”

©jane jago

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