The Silo

(c) Marie Gail Stratford 

‘Rumour has it there’s still grain left in that silo.’

I shake my head.

‘Even if, it’ll have rotted.’

‘We don’t know that.’

‘People have died trying to raid it, right after the collapse.’

But I see in Cal’s face that he won’t change his mind.

‘I’ll be careful.’

‘You’re not going alone.’

My turn to put on unrelenting face.

The door has been welded shut, so we climb to the roof. One of the panels is loose. The silo is empty, raided by birds.

‘Now we know.’

But Cal is pointing at something sprouting at the bottom.

‘It germinated.’


I’ve used this week’s Friday Fictioneers prompt for this story, but I’m not adding myself to the link-up because I won’t have time to read other people’s stories.

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