It’s not as if we don’t try, John thought silently. Maybe some don’t try at all. Then again, who am I to judge?

John continued breaking Mason jars. Crashing them to the floor. Vegetables everywhere. He began to yell. Scream out. His voice bounced off the concrete walls. Just breath. That’s all he needed. Breath in between screams. Madness requires that.

He had a grand saved up. If he sold the farm, there was no telling how much he could get from land developers wanting to turn it into a housing addition with some strange name like Cherry Orchard or Lake Montague. Something selling the good life when all this land had brought him was grief.

The young man went upstairs and walked out to the front porch, where his mother used to swing slowly in the evening air.

What would you do, mom? He asked the haunting spirit. What shall I do? The family needs money, he mumbled, hands over lips. Bell could use it. I could use it. Just run away, he swung higher. Just like dad did.

There was no answer.

The End