"Bonds of the Broken"

The sun was just beginning to set over the wheat fields of Dust Hollow, painting the sky in hues of rust and gold. Two figures walked along a dirt road, their silhouettes trailing long behind them. One was tall, wiry, and sharp-eyed; the other, broader and slow-moving, with a childlike slump in his shoulders.

"Do you think they’ll have chickens, Eli?" asked the larger man, his voice hopeful.

Eli sighed, adjusting the sack slung over his shoulder. "If we can get the job, maybe, Jonah. But don’t get your heart set just yet."

Jonah beamed anyway. "I’ll take care of the chickens. Feed ‘em every day. Talk to ‘em too. Chickens like that."

Eli nodded, not unkindly. He had heard this before. A hundred times. Chickens, rabbits, a little house on a hill. Jonah’s dream was always the same—simple and sweet, and always just out of reach.

They had been moving from farm to farm for years, ever since the textile mill in Granger shut down and took their town with it. No money, no family, just each other. Eli was older by a decade, smarter by most standards. Jonah—though a man in body—had the mind and innocence of a child. And Eli had sworn long ago, maybe foolishly, that he'd look after him no matter what.

By the time they reached the Miller ranch, the light was fading. The foreman, a square-jawed man with tired eyes, looked them over with a flick of his cigarette.

“You any good with your hands?” he asked.

Eli nodded. “We’ve been working the fields since spring. I can drive a plow, and Jonah here’s strong—damn near twice as strong as any man you’ll find.”

The foreman squinted at Jonah, who gave a dopey smile and waved.

“Alright. Two weeks’ trial. Don’t cause trouble.”

Eli nodded again. “Thank you, sir.”

As they settled into the bunkhouse, a few other workers gave them the usual look: suspicion wrapped in indifference. No one had time to make friends. The days were long, the pay was thin, and everyone carried their own kind of desperation.

But Jonah didn’t notice. That night, he sat on the edge of his cot, eyes gleaming. “You think we’ll get to stay, Eli?”

“Maybe,” Eli said, unlacing his boots.

“And if we do, maybe we can save up? Get a little place? With chickens? Maybe even a dog?”

Eli didn’t answer. He just nodded and turned away. He’d heard the dream so many times it had become part of the rhythm of their lives. But deep down, he wanted it too. Not the chickens or the dog, maybe, but the peace—the home. Somewhere to rest, somewhere to belong.

The days passed in hard labor. Eli fixed fences and herded cattle; Jonah hauled crates and lifted equipment like it weighed nothing. The other workers began to soften toward them, especially after Jonah helped stop a runaway cart with his bare hands.

One evening, a woman came by the bunkhouse. She was the ranch owner’s daughter—Marla, red-haired and restless, always looking for someone to talk to.

Most of the men avoided her. Getting too friendly with the boss’s daughter was a fast way to get run off. But Jonah didn’t know any better.

She sat beside him one night while he was feeding crumbs to a crow outside the barn.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Jonah,” he said brightly. “This bird’s name is Buttons. He likes crackers.”

Marla laughed. “You talk to all the animals?”

“Sure do. Me and Eli are gonna have chickens and maybe a dog someday.”

She tilted her head. “That sounds nice. You ever been in love, Jonah?”

He blinked. “What kind of love?”

She smiled sadly and didn’t answer.

Later that week, Jonah went missing for an hour. Eli found him behind the hay bales in the barn, confused and panicked.

“She tried to kiss me, Eli. I didn’t know what to do. She got scared and ran.”

Eli felt a stone settle in his chest. “You didn’t hurt her?”

“No! I swear. I just—she got close, and I said she smelled like honey. That’s all.”

Eli believed him. But belief didn’t matter if the rancher believed something else.

Sure enough, the next morning, Marla didn’t come down for breakfast. And by midday, the foreman called Eli into the shed.

“She says your friend scared her. Says he grabbed her.”

“He didn’t,” Eli said flatly. “He doesn’t know better, but he wouldn’t hurt her.”

The foreman shook his head. “A girl like that doesn’t need to lie. You boys need to move on. Tonight.”

They packed their things in silence. Jonah kept wringing his hands.

“Did I ruin it again, Eli?”

Eli paused. “You didn’t mean to. That matters.”

“Will we still get the house? And the chickens?”

Eli looked at him for a long moment. “I hope so, Jonah. I really do.”

As night fell, they slipped out quietly, walking down the same dirt path they came in on. But this time, Eli didn’t look back.

They found a grove just outside the ranch borders, a place with a small stream and an old log to rest on. Jonah laid down, curling into himself like a boy, mumbling about chickens and fences.

Eli sat beside him, eyes on the moon.

He knew the men would come looking. They always did. Stories spread fast, and pitchfork justice was the easiest kind.

He looked at his friend—gentle, powerful, and broken in ways the world didn’t understand. He remembered the promise he’d made, long ago, to keep Jonah safe.

And then he remembered what safety really meant.

He reached into his satchel and pulled out the old revolver he kept wrapped in cloth. It had only one bullet. Just in case.

Jonah stirred. “Eli?”

“I’m right here, buddy.”

“Tell me again about the house.”

Eli swallowed. “It’s white. With a porch. And a red roof.”

“Are there chickens?”

“Yep. And a dog named Buddy. You feed the chickens every morning, and they cluck when they see you.”

Jonah smiled, eyes heavy. “Sounds nice.”

Eli looked away, tears sliding down his face. “It is, Jonah. It really is.”

A single shot cracked through the trees.

And silence fell over Dust Hollow.

Epilogue

A few days later, a newspaper in a nearby town carried a short column:

Two drifters found dead near Miller Ranch. One shot, one presumed drowned. Incident under investigation.

No one claimed the bodies. No one mentioned the house with the red roof, or the chickens, or the boy who talked to birds.

But somewhere, in the hearts of the broken, the dream lived on.