Farmhand

The father’s weather-beaten face was set in an almost hopeless expression as he turned away from the window. His request had been a simple one: For a bit of  a hand getting the potatoes planted. Not too strenuous a task, not too back-breaking. A bit of hard work was good for the soul, his old man used to say when he was a boy.

But no, his boy wasn’t interested. “I’m busy, maybe later.” He’d blag, and then turn back to his computer. They got it to help with his school work, after he complained that the home computer they did the accounts on was too old, too slow.

Too incapable of playing games, more like.

Setting his shoulders, he took long strides back to the potato patch, feeling better for taking his frustration out on the soil with a fork. He’d try again another time. Maybe he’d have better luck then.

It was quick enough work to plant the potatoes. Row after row was filled in, all ready to grow, with just one click. Scrolling the view across, he checked on his other plants and the animals in the farm. A quick tap of the CTRL and S keys saved his progress, before he continued on with the work. He hated something making him lose all that progress and effort.

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