The cornflower-blue dress hung from wide straps over pink, freckled shoulders. Its square collar line edged higher on the back than the front displaying the soft valley of her cleavage. While the faded fabric pretended to the flow elegantly down her body, drying mud and wheat spores kept it humble. A soft breeze fluttered the hem bisecting scabbed knees.
Her thick, dark hair had been wrapped hastily at the back of her head, held in place with a twig she’d picked from the ground before entering the field. Closing her emerald eyes, she stopped her trek into the field, and bowed her head. She hated being here, and what she had to do, but a deal’s a deal.
Around her, amber stalks bent away from her in a perfect circle as though a microburst broke from above, crashing to the ground, and sending its tendrils to lay everything but her flat. She tilted her head back, bringing her sorrowful gaze to the sky. The tears she cried found their way to her hair, turning the dust to mud. The despair flowing from her wasn’t only for what lay in the future, but also for the loaves of the bread lost from this spoiled harvest.
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