Strawmen

by on Nov.24, 2013, under Syndicated from the Web

Reposted from PUMPKINROT.COM: What’s Brewing | Go to Original Post

They stretched as far as he could see, then well past that. They surrounded his house like an army frozen in time, the older of them rotting and falling to pieces on the ground around the stakes which held them. The age of each followed no pattern. One built in 1972 might well stand next to one built two weeks ago. Some had, at one time, sported jack-o-lantern heads; the flame in their faces burning only once – the night of their birth. Some were topped with plain pumpkins, giving the impression of an expressionless face, and a question withheld. Over the years these had returned to the earth, their seeds dropping and coming back as small green buds. As a result, large portions of the farm were wild pumpkin patches, the orange fruit growing large in between figures that seemed to pay them no mind.

Excerpt from The Last Scarecrow, 

by Bean.


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