Exhaustion overwhelms her small frame as she relaxes into her father’s old reclining chair. Soft candlelight dances against the off-white walls of the sitting room, forming the shadows of recognizable faces between the furnishings. She gazes into their familiar eyes, yearning for their found peace, but hesitant to leave behind the familiarity of life.
They had all gone, moved on in the throes of spiritual evolution, to be survived only by a smattering of resistant souls. The souls, however, couldn’t resist for long.
Her breath would be the last in a field of once vital beings, now replaced by the unsettling quiet of empty bodies. This is the barrenness of harvest or pestilence- the answering cleanse of a world in despair.
Prose created in response to a dverse prompt by host BJÖRN RUDBERG, requiring the inclusion of the line “This is the barrenness of harvest or pestilence” from the poem “All Hallows” by Louise Glück. The prose could not exceed 144 words, with a beginning, middle, and end.