He stood in the doorway of his homestead, looking out at his land.
The sweat poured from his bronzed head, the receding hairline exposing his scalp to the sun. In his hand he held the machete. Blood dripped from the point of the blade, pooling on the steps at his feet.
The stench of fresh, dead meat pervaded the air already. He looked at the slaughtered cattle, struck down where they stood. He would keep one for himself, enough food for a fortnight. The rest he left.
In the distance, black smoke clouded the sky, creating a dark fog, heralding the coming apocalypse. He had burned his crops. Scorch the earth, leave them nothing worth taking.
His land. His father’s land. He had seen off many. Whites and blacks. Governments and rebels.
This was no different, no matter where they had come from. He didn’t care if they were from Mars.
They would not take his land.
Linking up with the prompt at What Pegman Saw. The task is to write a story in 150 words or less based on the destination that Pegman is visiting. This week’s destination is Free State, South Africa, and I’ve just finished reading H. G. Wells’ ‘The War of the Worlds’, so this tale came to mind quite quickly!
You can read other stories based on the prompt HERE.
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