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FRIDAY FICTION CONCRIT SUBGROUP 

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Genre: Historically Speculative Fiction

Word Count: 100

BLACK SUNDAY

            My Ephraim’s shiny eyes was bluer than the April sky. I set him on a blanket where he cooed and sucked his fist. Then I laid out picnic fare for me and Tom.

            “Our wheat’s a-dyin’ of thirst, Cora-Lee,” he said. “I hear tell them know-it-alls in Washington says we’re destroying the land and causing this here weather change.”

            “Hogwash!”

            Suddenly a black cloud ripped across the prairie and snuffed out the sun. I choked on dirt as we ran for cover. That day in 2035 Ephraim’s tiny lungs filled with dust and his colorless eyes don’t shine no more.

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