She stood at the edge of the field, willing herself to wake up. She felt her muscles straining, her whole body taunt like the four strings of a violin about to snap – yet, the nightmare persisted.
She had to accept that she was awake.
The field that just a month ago was empty as far as her eyes could see… Barren, they said. She laboured for hours to bury his body in the soil that gave all it had to give. It was gruelling, but she pushed on, persevering despite the resistance from the earth that did not want its son back.
Not a single sound broke the silence when she left – drenched in cold sweat, satisfied with the task completed.
Today, 32 days after she put him to sleep, the field was aflower with colour.
Pumpkins of all sizes sprouted everywhere. One bigger than the next, they followed no pattern. They were scattered as if a bag of seeds burst open and poured onto the plain of the field.
She eyed the specks of colour, unwilling to step away from the dirt road.
People from the village nearby mingled not too far off, kids rushing into the field and frolicking amongst the winter squash.
The pumpkin patch felt ominous.
She shivered as she watched the faces around her light up with joy at the bizarre gift, people harvesting the choicest of fruits.
She somehow knew she could never eat anything grown on this cursed field.
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