Day 540

The scarecrow stood in the midst of a disease stricken corn field.
It was surrounded by grey sticks that emitted a thick smoke at the slightest whiff of a breeze.
There were no people, hadn't been for a good hundred or so years.
It remembered the ones that made it, the small ones named it Thomas.

Thomas had played with them at night, come off their pole and chased them about the corn.
How they had shrieked with laughter and had such fun, been such good friends.
Then one of the small ones stopped coming outside- sick the other one said.
A screaming white tractor came and took the small one away for good.

The other people stopped coming outside too, began to board up their windows.
Thomas saw the corn around them, the corn they were made to protect, rot and spread clouds.
Even the people's house had turned grey (if it was the people's still, they'd been gone so long now).
They wondered what the inside was like, they'd never been allowed in before.

And so the next night Thomas crept from his pole and drifted across the grey fields to the home.
There were no lights on, there had always been at least one light on from somewhere.
Not even the small ones' light was on and they were scared of pitch black nights.
Thomas gently pushed the door open and it crumpled to the floor in a shower of grey dust.

Stepping inside they saw that everything was either piles or coated in a thick layer of grey powder.
Each downstairs room was vacant, risking the crumbling stairs Thomas continued onwards.
They found the people in the first room they checked,all huddled in a corner.
At least they might be the people, they were coated in dust but a familiar pink flowery dress showed.