freshly roasted coffee beans
Sweat poured off his brow. The midday sun was brutal. He had been harvesting coffee since dawn. Water. That's all he could think about now.
Water. He looked across the field at the jug that promised refreshment. Without regard to the consequences, he left his post.
Water.
The ladle hung on the side of the jug. He dipped the ladle in and drank until he was sated. His stomach convulsed at the sudden infusion of warm liquid. The cramps were horrible.
He sought a place to rest under a distant tree. Within a few moments, he had fallen asleep. How many hours did he sleep? All he knew was that when he woke, the sun was low in the sky.
He rushed over to his picking basket. His haul was still there, bleached by the sun. Was the coffee ruined? He looked despondently at his basket. It may not have been his intention, but therein lay freshly roasted coffee beans. Roasted and shrunken by the sun.
Everyone had left the field. Only he and his sorry haul remained. He picked up the basket, now light with dehydrated plants, and walked disconsolately off the field.
The story was written in response to the Freewrite prompt, freshly roasted coffee beans.
A link to the prompt may be found here.
