/lit/ - Literature

>>15857654
>>15866087
They all line up, shoulder to bony shoulder, each nearly nude to completion save for an individual cloth diaper, and prepare for their monthly bath with their ribs protruding from malnourishment and starvation. Neil steps between each one, urinating on all of their faces as they giggle and laugh and rinse their hair in his putrid piss. Occasionally opening their mouths to drink from his salty golden nectar since drinking anything at all is a luxury in their humble tribal village.

Mubaru’s wife, Ungala(also known as Jemima), sat cross-legged with a satisfied smile across her face as the sounds of her delighted children echoed through the small dirt dome in which they dwelled. She was busying herself that day scraping up the mud from the ground and caking it together within her palms before setting them down to dry in a neat pattern around her. These ‘cookies’ were the traditional recipe and culinary favorite of the proud and noble Poopoo people, and consisted the vast majority of all their meals. Naïve enthusiastic little Treyvon ran up to his mother in hopes of receiving one after having not eaten in days, but these cookies were the rations of the slaves which were owned by their family.

Mubaru would take some of them and go out to the small dirt barn wherein they were kept and toss them to the floor. For either fear of the consequences or out of lack of strength, not a one moved so much as an inch, their deadened eyes fixated on that form of their deified tormentor before being enclosed in darkness once again. Wondering all the while why they were slaves at all in a village which has not yet discovered agriculture and still remains fixed in a hunter-gatherer lifestyle.

>>15856299
>>15856478
>>15856502
>>15856536
>>15856585
Mubaru’s wife, Ungala(also known as Jemima), sat cross-legged with a satisfied smile across her face as the sounds of her delighted children echoed through the small dirt dome in which they dwelled. She was busying herself that day scraping up the mud from the ground and caking it together within her palms before setting them down to dry in a neat pattern around her. These ‘cookies’ were the traditional recipe and culinary favorite of the proud and noble Poopoo people, and consisted the vast majority of all their meals. Naïve enthusiastic little Treyvon ran up to his mother in hopes of receiving one after having not eaten in days, but these cookies were the rations of the slaves which were owned by their family.

Mubaru would take some of them and go out to the small dirt barn wherein they were kept and toss them to the floor. For either fear of the consequences or out of lack of strength, not a one moved so much as an inch, their deadened eyes fixated on that form of their deified tormentor before being enclosed in darkness once again. Wondering all the while why they were slaves at all in a village which has not yet discovered agriculture and still remains fixed in a hunter-gatherer lifestyle.