First name: Postcard. Last name: Unpacked.

I vow to no longer rob this class of my thoughts. Deep Water, this one is for you.

The poor man's fingers froze into a claw that would take hours to restore to a recognizable shape. The workers were hard and fast, but they still spent weeks to rid the vines of the heavenly fruit. Looking up from their work from time to time, they would see the exquisite mansion on the top of the hill. The man who owned the grapes lived there. He was never seen, except for an occasional glimpse of a shadow. He never left the house. He never paid them a decent wage. His house was clean, but his dealings were dirty. Some said he was merely a phantom, others said his riches turned him recluse.

The day the world went black with ash, the end of their misery was not welcomed. Times were always tough before, but at least they had their lives.
Nothing remained but the bones of the workers and the ruins of the man's house. 

The people who come to see the wreckage know nothing of what it was like to live there. Although the harvest was trying, there were always the children to look to for hope. They played "hide and go seek" and raced up and down the vines. They were all oblivious to the impending doom.