No1thing

Sandra's arms were sore from working the land. Her feet were wet and buried in the mud below, which caked the greyish rags that she was wearing. She rooted the ground below with her dirty hands, searching for turnips in the cold, boggy ground below. Her tangled brown hair hung besides her face. Her skin was pale and chills ran up and down her body periodically. Her troat was parched and her lips were dry, begging her to take a gulp from the muddy water below. And yet, her steely, grey eyes looked at the floor with determination. Sandra knew how to quelch her desires, how to nurture them untill the day of satisfaction. Usually that was untill harvest season, but this harvest had been the most pitiful of all. Most turnips looked as scraggy as herself, and some came with sickly green spots, which burst into slime as she took hold of them. Disease had struck the lands, and the weather had been evil. Evil, eyes. The winds were vile, the rain was relentless and the hail had been devastating.