The Picnic

The Picnic
By Josh Fink

It was bright and sunny morning. The sun was just beginning to soak up the dew with its warm rays. Two children played with a ball on the road.


By the church, a woman in a black dress screamed and cried while clutching the minister. She cried out for her baby. Her sorrow drenched the ground like she was bleeding her life out onto it. The sun could not soak up the saltwater tears as easily as the dew.


A small girl skipped through the forest, holding a basket. She jumped and played, singing her joy to the world. She ran through the trees and shrubs until she came to a huge oak tree.
She rounded the tree, immediately sitting down on a picnic blanket, spread out and filled with an assorted medley of apples, bananas, sandwiches, and drinks. All the food was rotten. She picked up an apple, half of which fell apart. She bit deeply into the other side. The girl reached into her mouth and pulled out a maggot which had been caught between her teeth.
“Hi, boy,” she said to the child seated next to her. She kissed his cheek, and looked down at the place setting before him. “You’ve still hardly touched your food!” she chided. “Gotsa finish it all up!” She set down her basket, kissed him again, and bounded away. She hardly seemed to notice the stench from the boy’s rotting flesh.