John Olonade

The Last Storm. AI-Generated.

The fields lay in silence, brown and barren under the midday sun, stretched out like a desert canvas under a burning sky. Dust clung to everything, fine particles settling on the leaves, the broken fence posts, and the soles of Tom’s worn boots. He could barely remember the last time it rained here on this land — his father’s land, and his grandfather’s before that. Now, it felt more like a tombstone than a farm, each shriveled crop a reminder of the loss looming on the horizon.