Photo prompt © Connie Gayer
He looked at the field and his heart sank. It was again a bumper crop.
He knew that the agent would be unwilling to lift even quarter of the produce. He would have to beg and accept whatever terms the agent would offer. He would not recover even the sowing costs.
The debts would keep on mounting. It had happened with every bumper crop.
Two of his neighbours had already forfeited their lands and lives. Their deaths had left him numb.
He roamed through the denuded field, thinking of the two neighbours who had killed themselves a few days back.
A post for Friday Fictioneers
Word count 100