I rise on my leg stumps far from my village, eye level with goats.
If I had goats.
The war stole them – when I could run antelope down.
My shoe size is gone.
If I had shoes.
I only need short pants and I have pants (thankfully) so I can beg with my legless clothes on for a wooden bowl of rice to go with my entrée.
If I had an entrée.
The rebels took them all away using my legs as stilts, leaving me stumps and 9 inch thigh bones. My former fast feet fastened to a tree. My alms? Rusty slugs of electrical conduit.
If I had a long time to make me rich, I swear I would build a new house with low windows.
From 39 Boys on Ground