This is a #storygram (mini-story) from my Instagram, which you can get to via the social media links at the top of this site. I do my best to make them daily for you to enjoy! YES, many of them will hopefully be expounded upon in novels or other future writing endeavors of mine. Thank you very much for reading and sharing them! And don’t forget to check out my film Portfolio too!
The Story:
Morning. At 68 years old, I found myself waking up with the sun, since Robbie moved out 3 years ago. My lovely wife was already in the kitchen with a pot of coffee brewing for me.
I would never be able to retire, but I didn’t really care. Offer after offer had poured in over the years that would make us rich, but this farm was our home. On our wedding day, I had carried my wife through this doorway, built by my own hands. I erected all of the fences. I had promised the land my life, and it had provided for us in return. This place was as much our child as Robbie.
I poured a mug of coffee and kissed Hannah on the cheek, before getting in my truck. The animals got their food before me. Robbie had fed them for me since he was 13, but he had finally married and moved on to start a life of his own. I was happy for him, but I missed him.
The cows got their feed first. They followed me and crowded the troughs, knowing what would appear in them. Then, I would move on to the horses, the chickens, and the pigs. After everyone was fed, I drove to the mailbox, which held the previous evening’s delivery.
I sorted the mail, still sitting in my truck. Electric bill. Water bill. My pathetic social security check. Property taxes.
The property taxes had steadily risen each year. Now, we were the last farm in the entire county, and our land had been sealed on every side by concrete.
I peeled open the envelope, dreading what number I would see. But I had planned for an increase, so I had an extra fifteen percent saved this year… I barely did it.
As I pulled the letter from its container, my heart stopped. The property taxes owed were triple the previous year’s.
I knew what it meant. If they couldn’t buy me off the land, they would tax me off. My cell phone rang.
“Morning, Dad!”
“Morning, son.”
“Emily and I are wanting to come stay this weekend. Maybe you and I could do some fishing in the pond?”
I didn’t know why he always asked. We loved for them to drop in any time.
“Robbie, come stay as long as you want. I love you.”
Ten months later the first thing they did was fill in our pond.