The sun was shining high in the sky, its rays beating down with force on any and all beneath it. At the rear of the Brone station house, several yards across the dry, barren field, Tristen Brone stood on the back of the dray parked alongside the old feed shed made from well-worn, corrugated iron. He had been unloading hay for the past hour, and he was starting to feel quite exhausted.
First Lines Contest 2019: Apathy and Vigor
The First Lines Contest 2019 is closed. Please submit your vote in the current year.