"A Child Starves to Death in a Cold Place on Christmas"Look at that child.
No more than a baby.
It's so sad, the little fucker's dead.
He had no food
And was totally cold.
This is fuckin' awful, no matter who you are.
I mean, he's fuckin' dead.
What's the bloody point?
We're all just babies
Starving to death in cold gutters
and brickyards.
Yeah, a god-damned brickyard!
That's bloody nice, right?
My mother had tuberculosis!
I haven't had it easy, either, you know.
But at least I never died, like this child,
With no food
In the cold.
Oh, Christ, I just want to kill them all to save them
The trouble o' dyin'.
Yes, I'd kill every little baby
Because that would be better
Than suffering through this life.
My father beat me day and night!
That's pretty sad, right?
Parent abuse and disease
And starvin' children?
Only thing worse
Would maybe be what...
A train accident? An orphanage fire?
'Cause I'll do whatever it takes.
I don't care.
You've had a good life this morning,
And now you've heard about this
Starved dead baby in a pile of bricks,
Which probably just ruined your day.
If that isn't enough, my sister is
The only girl I ever loved,
And she was taken from me
By the smallpox when I was
But a schoolboy!
I've got serious issues from all of this tragedy,
But at least I'm not a starved child in the cold.
Think about that.
Happy fuckin' day to you, and enjoy your
Fancy literary journal, you nancy bastards!
The image of that child haunts my
opium dreams.
On Christmas.
----Henry Merrick Fitzhugh
Interesting article, added his blog to Favorites
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