It was noon, the last Tuesday of the month. Moreoverit was Christmas.

The kids had neither a watch nor a calendar. They knew not to read or write either.

But the entry of a trolley into the dim-lit factory, filled with triangular puffs, made them smile, a little extra. They knew the day.

Rectangle puffs, filled with beet-root were provided every last Tuesday of the month. Some ate it as soon as they got their hands on. A few took it to their homes to share with their siblings.

They were five to seven years old.

Daily they worked from early morning in the dingy factories, which gifted them feeble bodies and lifeless eyes. Their only fuel was the wheat bun and water provided in the factory.


They eagerly awaited for their share. They knew triangular puffs were egg puffs, a luxury for Christmas.

When they finally obtained their portionthey realized it was just a potato puff.

Definitely better than no puffs!
They smiled once more.



{Written for FFfAW Challenge – 197th}


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