The Thursday Post Critiques 10.12.15

His back was aching by the time he was done with the sweeping of the leaves. He turned to pick up the shovel to load them in cart.

Something hit him real hard on his back, he turned but there was nothing in sight, no one, it felt like the cane that was lavishly showered on him during school days.

He turned again a little scared to pick up the shovel and finish the job.

It struck again, this time he turned in a lightning speed forgetting his old bones, the tree straightened itself up in front of his bulging eyes.

“You ruined my painting you moron!” the tree growled in a whispery voice.

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