The Cure for Cancer

view from train

PHOTO PROMPT © David Stewart

I’m dying.

I’ve been riding this train to visit my children, well now, my grandchildren, for over thirty years. My dear wife Jeannie passed away six years ago, bless her. I’m the only one left of my generation and the docs say the cancer is spreading.

It’s spreading across our land as well. That old shantytown used to be a neighborhood sheltering good working men, families, children playing ball in the street.

The world’s falling apart and it doesn’t matter which party promises to bring prosperity. We are no longer represented. I pray I die before the bloodshed of revolution.

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Dinnertime

farm

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

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Sam grasped the fence post as nausea doubled him over. The throb on this right side spread around to his back. He wondered just how long seventy years of debauchery would take to kill him.

“Can’t be.” He tried to shake off his headache and clear his vision. “It is. But it can’t be. They’ve been dead for over 50 years. The old farm was sold at auction. It’s a damned subdivision now.”

Grandma stepped out of the barn and waved at him. “Sammy. Dinner’s about ready. Come on home.”

The twelve-year old boy scrambled down the path toward Heaven.

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