I’m all about spreading the love. So I’m going to give away a copy of the Kindle version of Under The Empyrean Sky by Chuck Wendig. All you have to do is write some flash fiction that features corn.
I thought I’d share with you my own corn story. I hope you enjoy it!
Jake stood at the edge of the corn field. The brown leaves whispered to one another. Stalks swayed in the wind. People always mentioned how creepy it was. He wondered if they thought corn fields were creepy before those movies came out, or if that was what started it.
He was pretty sure that there was always an element of fear involved. He’d been out in the middle of the sea of brown when it had still been green. It was hot and claustrophobic. Even then you couldn’t tell if there was someone just on the other side of the curtain of vegetation.
Goosebumps rose up on his skin as he thought about it. He supposed he couldn’t blame people for being afraid. Hell, he’d wet his pants the first time he saw a scarecrow. It wasn’t one of the cutesy Halloween costume jobs. Dad had made it truly terrifying, even for people.
The guardians and the grain didn’t bother him now though. He’d been exposed to it his whole life. It was the life’s blood of his family for generations. Until recently they’d done very well. When things went south, Dad even made their field into a Maize Maze and charged people two bucks a pop to wander around. Laughter coming from the acreage didn’t seem right. It was almost sacrilegious. He and Dad had argued about it, but the old man got his way.
Now that the land belonged to Jake, he’d put an end to that nonsense. Sure, there wasn’t much money in corn, unless you owned one of the mega farms. That didn’t matter much to him. Mom and Dad had huge insurance policies. The house was his free and clear. He planted his corn the old fashioned way and harvested it by hand. A few city folk even came out and bought up the stock he put out for sale. He broke even most years.
Jake took the burlap sack from his belt and pulled it over his head, tying it in place around his neck. The holes were a little hard to see through, but he knew his rows like the back of his hand. All good farmers did. He pulled the hand sickle from his belt and smiled under the mask. The screams were just now becoming audible. The lady from the city must have gotten tired of hiding.
He stepped into the whispering waves of grain. Fear had returned to the land once more. The harvest was ripe for the picking.
4 thoughts on “The Harvest – My Corn Flash Fiction”
Comments are closed.