No one could remember when the last rain came. It doesn’t matter anymore.
First, the crops withered. The corn never developed. Then, the stalks shriveled and dried up, standing right there in the field.
Once the crops were gone, there was no feed, either. No one would buy the cattle. After they died, the horses did, too. The dogs all ran off, probably to find water, since the creeks all dried up.
That’s when the well went dry. Ma and Pa both passed away then. I think they just lost their will. I don’t know why I am still here.
~McGuffy Ann Morris
I wrote this 100-word story as an exercise. I drew on my personal experience of stories told to me by elders who farmed. I come from a strong lineage of farming. Consequently, I have tremendous respect for those who farm. They live their job. It affects their very existence. And, it does ours, too. This story is for them.