The Shadows Scarred My Face

Grandpa got up from his seat then and retraced the boot prints he left on the porch. With our livestock dead or sold there wasn't any work left to do just showing up the house against the dust so we could leave all of it behind. He descended the stairs like a baby learning in his first steps, wobbly at the knees. There was a cigarette in his right hand, unlit the county rolled himself. It was stained with the same red dirt as the rest of him. My stomach twisted when I noticed the denim around his rear was wet and the greatest number of flies was congregating there. We both launched as he opened the barn door and disappeared within.