Fiction

The Harvest

“Hold your children tight and give thanks for the years you have had with them,” the somber male voice spoke over the radio. “For without the Growers, we would have none. The Harvest may be the price we pay, but it is a price we agreed upon. Willingly. Goodnight, and may they only reap half of what they sowed.”

Curled around them on her bed, Eyalla watched her two children sleep. Twin boys, each a mirror of the other, with her mouth and bone structure but the eyes of a stranger. Despite the thick quilt, her body felt cold. Her heart beat quick in her chest, and her breath was shallow. All around the settlement, others would be facing the same.

The twin moons rose in tandem through the window. A large shadow passed between them and the house. Eyalla’s heart froze up for all of a second before hammering in her chest. She gripped her boys tighter, listening. The night was silent for several painful moments. Then came three solid knocks on the front door.

One of the twins would soon be gone. Which, she didn’t know. The Growers gave no choice during the Harvest.

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