They feed me and carry me about as if I’m crippled. I can neither see nor touch my great-great-great-grand-children. My bones quake within me. My strength is gone. Why, life, do you persist? Why, oh death, do you flee? Come to me now! Snatch me away! Take me to rest.
Take Me Death
Tags: Short Story
Published by Florence Ezekafor
Impacting lives through creative writing View all posts by Florence Ezekafor