Harvest - Original Short Story

Another Helium entry from 2012, this one is a short comic story written around crows in a corn field and a scarecrow. Considering we're currently at the tail end of harvest season, I figured it was appropriate to post now. 

Harvest
By Emma Redmer

It was the most beautiful thing I ever saw. Long, yellow and creamy, glistening in the sun like beautiful bits of stone. We wanted those. We couldn’t live without them. We needed their long, soft tassles for our homes, the green stalks to cover our children and keep them warm. They were the most perfect stalks of corn ever grown, and they would be ours.

There was one small problem. Those lucious corn stalks were under survelliance. An odd-looking man with long, straight hair and old clothes was standing right in the path of the best stalks. He had a peculiar face, with a fat beak that looked like someone drew it on. We just had to get around him, and we’d be home free, with all the corn we could ever want.

I looked left, around a corn stalk. I looked right, around a rock. Nothing. No humans. No cats or dogs ready to pounce. I turned to the others and  nodded. “Come on, fellas. This is our chance.”

With a caw, we flew straight at the farmer. Two of our group actually picked up his hat and flung it on the ground. Another pulled the hair out of his arm. I thought it was a little strange that the only sign he gave of us was to list slightly to the right. He didn’t yell, or try to shoot at us or hit us with a broom. I finally ducked down and took a look at his legs.

“Fellas, come and see this!” The guy didn’t have legs at all! He had two long stumps stuffed with hay. “He ain’t real!”

Well, we all had a good laugh at that. Imagine, us thinkin’ some guy made of hay was a real farmer! We flew past him and headed for the corn, cawing joyfully the whole way.

We landed on the tallest stalk. I grabbed a corn cob and grinned. “Hey Cora, look at this! This is going to be the best harvest we ever had!”

Cora nodded. “Right you are, Willy! I don’t think I’m mincing words when I say that us crows will never again have such a feast!”