I walked into the store, not knowing what to expect. I carefully observed my surrondings. It was qutie obvious this was a prison for foods. They had isles and isles of there prey. You could hear the screams of the milk, as it lay in a cooler, not knowing whether it would still be alive the following day. But that was nothing compared to the silent torture that meats were forced to go through. Some were sliceds, others were left to die in negative tempatures. It was in-humane.
They had organized there victems by catagory. Most of the food was sold into slavery. It was said most didn't survive the first week, as the masters feared that there newly bought produce would expire. If you were lucky, you might be spared, for some of the kinder people would spray you, and allow to you live as a decoration. But, unfortunetly, this rarely happened, and usually only around the holday season. And even then, your life had little or no purpose.
Anyhow, I stood in isle three, where they had crackers a cookies confined into small containers. Potato chips were left to die in air-tight bags. I almost through-up, knowing that my people were the cause of this extremely evil acts. I walked from row to row, pretending I didn't mind. I kept picking up the worser off ones, tried to comfort them with a few kind words, and then set them back on the shelf. I feared what would happen to me if I let my real thoughts loose.
To Be Continued.