November drabbles - 7

They strolled the sand, guns in hand, sea to the right and grassland to the left, keeping the ship in sight. Kettles and pans lay discarded in the grass. Others had passed before. Bees hummed in fields of stubbled corn, long harvested and stored. And patches of empty ground were graves well-dug. Others had passed.

Only ghosts answered cries of geese and gull, haunting grasses and senses, whisps of light. Only ghosts tended corn hid in storage pits, though eyes stayed watching in the night. They didn’t believe in ghosts so they stole the food, leaving strangers to their plight.

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