The Future
By J. L. Young
(Writer's Guild of Spring Hill writing prompts Cowboy and Fortune Cookie)

The woody footfalls as a cowboy, fresh from the field, shuffled into the house as dusk fell. He hung his dusty Stetson on a peg by the door. His toe tapped the cabinet as he took a cup from the dish drainer, removed the steaming carafe from the coffee maker, and poured until his cup was half full. He took to the freezer, removed a bottle, poured his cup full, and retreated to his armchair.

The door opened and a young woman entered with bags in hand. A local take-out restaurant’s colorful label printed on the side of each. She sat them on the counter beside the empty bottle and looked toward his chair. It was rocking slightly, but the television wasn’t on. “Leland, are you alright?”

“They’re gone Zy. The last herd is off to slaughter. One hundred thirty-six years my family has punched cows and the last one is loaded in a truck headed for Dodge.”

“At least Provitre offered to buy the ranch. They say it’ll still be used to grow beef,” Zylphia reminded him.

Leland looked at the letter on the table beside him. “Beef grown in vats just doesn’t seem natural. It doesn’t even taste right.”

“I couldn’t tell the difference. Besides, nothing remains constant except change itself.”

He sat forward and turned to his wife, “What, are you a fortune cookie?”

“You know, I just might be. I’m sweet, like one,” she smiled.

“Your humor is dry like one, too.”

“Leland Must, I swear. Get in here, let’s eat.”

He allowed a subdued chuckle, “Have you thought about what we’re going to do if we do sell?”

“All I know is we got to get out of this town, it’s dead. Everybody’s gone.”

“We’ve lived here all our lives, Zy.”

“What better reason?” She smiled again and slipped a chip into her mouth.

You’re right. Can you pass the Guac and chips, please?”

She guarded them like a starving creature, “Mine.” Then laughed and presented them to him.

After dinner, he stepped out onto the old porch and breathed in the still night air. The full moon hung brightly in the eastern sky. The darkness carried with it the barks of a pack of dogs from a neighbor’s pen. He leaned against the porch railing and lit a joint. Then he looked toward the field.

Leland stepped around the pillar and found himself at the barn. Inside, the stalls were empty. Only hay and the comforting stench that permeated the very structure remained. Zylphia wrapped her arms around him and gave a squeeze. He offered her the joint.

“I guess the future has found us, Leland,” she said, kissed his back, and accepted the joint.

“I’ve given it some thought, we can do the boondocking thing. We get an RV and go…,” he paused, …everywhere, anywhere, but how are going to pay for it?”

She leaned against his side with a warm smile, “We do it on Provitre’s dime.”

He thought for a moment and nodded, “Yeah, let’s do it,” and kissed the top of her copper-colored hair. “I’ll miss those damn fartin’ cows.”

Zylphia released a guffaw, “I know you will.”