When Fields of Pain Become Altars of Peace

Seven long years had passed under the mighty hand of the oppressor. He sat there, desolate. The pangs of hunger had left him some time ago as he seemed destined to simply waste away.

He had worked so hard. Planting. Watering. Growing. And Waiting.

And just as the fruit of his labor was about to be enjoyed, the oppressor swooped in and took it away. So here he sat, in total poverty. Read more