Round 14 Winner
Bette breathed deep, the damp musty scent of fresh earth burning her lungs. Something about that scent, that promise of new life to come, was always irresistible. The fog hid the city beyond the fields; the city she had left nearly a year earlier when the call came. The plague had wiped out nearly everyone and a return to the fields, unused for generations, was the only hope. Return to the earth, work the fields, bring forth the harvest.
Bette smiled at the arrival of the other survivors. They stretched the length of the field, one for every four sprouts expected. They strained their eyes for signs of the first growth. A moment later a shout of joy erupted as the first were spotted. With giddy laughter they filed into their places, marveling over the yellow, brown, red, and black tufts now dotting the earth. The survivors took their places across the field and readied their knives. A quick bite into flesh and Bette fell, knowing that in a few hours the harvest would mature. Fed by the blood of the survivors the next generation would spring forth with all the knowledge of the last, ready to rebuild the world.