Dust swirled around his boots as he looked upon his land – his father’s land, his grandfather’s land, where their bones were buried, deep in the drying earth. The fields were bare. A few stray crops stuck up from the ground like ghosts, withered to wraiths. A touch was all it would take to turn them to yet more dust borne on the hot, barren air.
There was only one cow left. One from a whole herd. A lone survivor.
He knew he should slaughter it or sell it and move on. The rest had run, heading for the mountains, where they said the grass was still green and the springs still ran pure.
But he had always been a sentimental man. He would not leave his ancestors’ bones.
He turned to the cow and ran a hand along the slick, chestnut-brown fur.
“You and me, girl. We’re survivors.”
Word Count: 148
This is for Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers. Thanks to Priceless Joy for running the challenge and MajesticGoldenRose for providing the prompt photo!