Recently I begrudgingly made my annual visit to my aunt’s farm.
I hated every minute of it. I got scared of almost everything there. When the horses neighed, I squealed and jumped. When I saw the cutlery they used to shed meat off of the bone, I couldn’t sleep for the entire night. When I spied the scarecrow in the field, I could have sworn it turned and looked back at me.
They made fun of me constantly for that. I couldn’t even taste the steak without thinking of the poor thing that had to die to provide it. I hated the screams the livestock made when they were butchered, I always felt like they should have been killed beforehand.
But the absolutely worst part of the whole trip was finding enough people to come along with me to begin with- it’s getting tougher finding a new harvest with each passing year.
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Credits to: fonzihippo
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