22 AT SUNDOWN, THE WORLD IS SHATTERED
Giraud stared at the tiny graves on the hill a few yards from his farm. It was near sundown, the sky above was a palette of pinks and blues. Giraud hated sundown. His world was something he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy. He looked back to the small house he'd built with his own two hands. It wasn't much, but it was a roof over his and Helens' heads. He saw Helen looking through the window at him. She saw the disappointment on his face and drew the curtains.
Giraud turned, scoffed at his world. A shadow loomed over him. He looked up, found it was the scarecrow. He heard blackbirds calling to each other as two of them flew to the scarecrow's shoulders. Giraud's eyes returned to the tiny graves with no markers. Why give them names? Giraud thought.
