The Harvest – Yuppies

Today’s Flash Fiction is inspired by Chuck Wendig’s challenge from last week – Another Ten Words. It’s a continuation of the story I posted for the corn related challenge a few weeks ago. I plan on adding to this story serially (cereally?) over the coming weeks. They’ll be available on my Wattpad
page as well. Wattpad is a story sharing site and everything is free. Enjoy the story!

Marcie let out an exasperated huff, for the third time on the trip back from her Mom’s funeral.

“What is it, dear?” Brad hissed through clenched teeth. He’d had about enough of her attitude. The only reason they’d gone was to hear the reading of the will. That turned out to be a colossal waste of time.

“You know damn well what it is. You were captivated by Charlene the whole time we were there, or at least by Charlene’s ass.” She turned and glared at him, bright green eyes shards of bottle glass.

He shook his head. “I was just amazed by the sheer size and roundness of it. I’ve never seen an ass like that on a white girl. I like big butts and I can not lie.” The joke fell flat, but it was at least a change of pace from the silence or the only other alternative, the screaming.

“Stop the car.” She hit him on the arm.

“What the actual hell?” It had hurt, but it hadn’t made him lose control. Lifting weights three times a week kept him buff.

“I said stop the car. Or at least stop the deceit. You’ve been lying to me about your trips out of town, haven’t you?”

This again. “Look, Marcie, I have to do a lot of traveling. You knew when I took this job that would be part of the deal. I’d have to be out of town a week a month.”

She hit him on the arm again, in the exact same god damn spot. “Stop the fucking car.”

He slowed down, looking for a place to do exactly that. He’d spaced out the last few miles. They were in the middle of nowhere. It must have rained here in the last half an hour and there was no way he was pulling the Beemer off onto a muddy shoulder. He spotted a sign up ahead, but couldn’t read it yet. “You’re so interested in me stopping, you’ll have to wait a minute.”

She turned and glared out the front window.

He could almost smell brimstone coming from her pores. He’d seen her mad before, but never anything like this. In the ten years they’d been married there had been plenty of ups and downs. Their physical relationship started off great. She still had the body that she had in high school and he had a better one. Things had cooled off in the last couple of years. The lack of any fruit from their sex life had something to do with that, he was sure. She’d been ready for a baby for the last eight years. He didn’t feel like he’d ever be ready.

He pulled onto the gravel side road and stopped. The sign he’d seen earlier read “Fresh Corn” in a brownish-red paint and pointed down the road. He could see a corn field in the distance. He turned to look at his wife. It felt like there was a canyon in between them instead of just an emergency brake. He bridged the gap with his arm. “Look, Marce…”

“Don’t you ‘Marce’ me.” She slapped his hand away and shouldered open her door. When she was out, she slammed it as hard as she could.

“Jesus Christ.” He put the car in drive and followed her. He watched her start jogging. Tan legs flashed below the hem of her jean shorts and her white sneakers bit into the rocky surface.

The road turned into driveway of sorts. When he reached the end, Marcie was leaning against an enormous oak tree. A deflated balloon hung near one of her shoulders with a manic looking clown superimposed on silver mylar. Three slashes split the clown’s face and it appeared to be staring at him in warning or accusation.

He parked the car near a battered old pickup truck and got out. A farm stand stood boarded up a dozen yards past the tree. A farm house that looked like it could use some TLC in the form of some paint or maybe a molotov cocktail sat further back from it. “Marcie, let’s not do this here. We’re likely to be less than an hour from a hotel. I’ll find us a place to stay. We’ll even get separate rooms if that’s what you want. You’re just grieving the loss of your Mom.”

She dug the toe of one shoe into the red clay near the oak’s base. “I won’t be grieving that bitch any time soon.” She looked up at him. “What I miss is what we used to have.”

He felt the anger began to build up. It’s gone because of you. He wanted to shout it until the rage disfigured his face. Instead he took a few calming breaths. “I miss it too.” He took a step towards her.

A screen door banged shut just past the tree. “We’re not receiving visitors right now.” The voice was strong, deep and masculine.

Brad moved to one side to see who was speaking. The oak was no weeping willow. It was eight feet across if it was an inch. “Sorry. We just had some car trouble.”

The owner of the voice, a youngish man with a mop of red hair, was dressed in coveralls and heavy work boots. “Really? Sorry to hear that. Won’t start at all?”

Something in the man’s eyes made Brad want to run. That was ridiculous. He had at least fifty pounds and three inches on Farmer Brown. “I’m sure it will. We just wanted to let the engine cool down a bit.” He looked back at Marcie. “We need to go, honey. They’re expecting us back home.”

She looked at him in confusion. “Who are you talking about? There’s no one…” She stopped as Brad nodded towards the farmer.

“Maybe I can help you get where you’re going.” The farmer’s voice was muffled now.

Brad looked back and saw that the man was wearing a bag over his head. His mind went blank as he saw the hand scythe gripped in one of the farmer’s work hardened fists. He couldn’t move, not even when Marcie’s head tumbled to the ground at his feet. It was like an atomic bomb had gone off in his brain, wiping out all cognition. He didn’t even feel the pain when the man’s weapon bit deep into his neck.

Had to use:










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