When you think you are alone

Ugh - this was written for the daily Flash Fiction Challenge, in about 15 minutes while I was at work. Reading it back now, I am not a fan, but I am not going to delete it. It is a good lesson in not trying to write too far out of your field of experience. A god-fearing farmer was never going to be easy for me to write about.


         Storm clouds brewed to the west, almost boiling across the sky towards the field. Hugh was fighting against nature and it was a battle he was going to lose. If he didn't get all of the straw baled before it was wet by the rain, there wasn't going to be enough food for his cows for winter. He barely had enough cows to sell calves next year to make ends meet, if he had to cull any his farm was gone.
         Bale-by-bale Hugh rolled up the the straw and tied it up with wire, cut from a heavy reel he lugged with him. He was about halfway through and really starting to rush when a sharp piece of wire snagged his left palm, cutting deep. Hugh was a well brought up man, he didn't curse or holler. He winced with pain and his heart sank - this would slow him down. if there had been any chance of finishing before the rain hit it was gone now. With nothing else to use as a bandage, Hugh took off his shirt and wrapped it tight around his slashed hand, leaving him just in his patched overalls.
         Despite the setback, Hugh thanked the Lord that the cut was not worse and continued on. The clouds rolled closer, the work was only halfway through and yet he stoically continued on.
         Suddenly a yell was heard from far off. Hugh turned, and coming through the gate to his land was a procession of carts. He recognized his neighbours wagon as well as nicer carts of some of the town-folk he knew from church. They were coming to help. Little did he know that the small town regarded this kind, simple farmer as it's most valued resident. The job might just get finished yet.