The mob held torches like flags, upright and proud, ready for battle with the onion factory. Sons, mothers, daughters, friends, marched on toward revenge. They threw their torches onto the large building, sending smoke signals for miles, saying "we're in charge here!"

For weeks, the town smelled like onions. At first, people sniffed their clothes to make sure it didn't come from their home cooked meals "People" here meaning the people who didn't boycott onions altogether. Most people substituted elephant garlic or onion powder, or just went without the taste. One girl started vomitting at the sight of onions altogether. But for weeks, people walked around reminded of the thing they hated most.

For months, the families tried to rebuild to rebuild. Women chose office workers for lovers. They chose men with clean hands instead, away from accidents. Kids who were young enough didn't have enough memories of the men, but rather memories of their mothers crying. I'm not


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ganymeder about 9 years ago

I'd like to see the end of this story.

the clark (joined about 9 years ago)
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A better way to spend 6 minutes than rubbing my boogers between my fingers until they form flickable balls.

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The sound reverberated through the streets.
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