Stories

Playing the Field

The sun was going down when I heard the porch bell ring from the field. I collected my tools and hurried home to find my mother waiting there on the porch, her arm interlocked with her next potential suitor. There would be no time to clean up and make myself presentable before making acquaintances. I bounded up the steps and held out my dirt-covered hand still slick with sweat. The man in his finery sneered down at me, and I knew at once I’d have to bury him in the field like all the rest.

THE END

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