The final seeds are broken chips from the wooden desk that used to sit in the corner of the bedroom. Or carrots. They might someday be carrots.

I had been so engrossed and desperate for food that I had completely forgotten about the pungent odor in the room.

The sweetness of sugar and honey is an immaculate joy, a momentary escape from the omnipresent fight for survival out here, somewhere in the forests of Appalachia.

How did eating become a utilitarian ordeal to ensure survival instead of an experience to be relished?

The rippling red is explosive in contrast to the stark grayscale that paints the world like black and white film.