The Cornfield

Some days I go for a walk by the cornfield. 

In bare feet, I cross the dirt road that leads to the lonely farmhouse - now long abandoned after the owners sold the property to the bank and moved to the city - letting my feet soak in the shimmering creek that follows it, until we both reach the meadow that connects the farm beyond to the fields. 

Most of these days the sun is warm and golden, and the wind, tasting of bright sunshine and sweet honey, caresses the golden sea of hay with loving whispers.

Inside I shiver as the first sing-song tunes of the corn reach me.

Tantalisingly the corn whispers to us all. It promises lost loves to return, aches to disappear and bad dreams to be banished forever into that sleepless void that holds no power over us anymore. It promises the Princes the dragons will be slain and the Princesses their saviors are near, carrying white wedding dresses with silver ribbons.

And all it asks for in return is your company.

That is why I can never step inside, no matter how sweet its song. I sit by the edge, right at the border where it meets the lush spring grass, peppered with cornflowers and I listen.

I listen to its deceitful promises and let myself dream. Sometimes I smile warmly and wish it to be true, other times I feel great sadness wash over me.

One day the corn will turn its wicked attention on me. I know it will. Maybe it will watch me in the night, slithering into my dreams and learning my secrets. Maybe then, after it has seen my heart, beating vulnerable inside my rib-cage, it will offer up something I won’t be able to resist. Maybe it will whisper of his blue eyes, or the homes I have left behind, vowing to get them all back for me.

One day I  may step inside the cornfield and never come back out. 

The corn shivers with anticipation, watching my back descend the dirt road to live another day. Just one more day...

Short Story, April 2020