Microfiction
The Last Cob
100 Word Story
Published in
1 min readOct 8, 2020
Her malnourished face that once had a glow deprived my hope more than our soon-to-be arid land.
Edwin disappeared even before the clock ticked six, neglecting our last harvest day before the drought.
I remembered dragging the iron plow across our cornfields during my teenage.
Returning home unusually late, Edwin stuffed his mom’s hand with money.
“We starve and die but never steal” I gripped him, controlling my rage.
With paint stains on his hand, he revealed — the portrait of a farmer holding his corn cobs with teary eyes.
“I sold the original”, my fifteen-year-old muttered.
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