Day after day the old fool would be ploughing his fields. Nobody else was ploughing. He seemed obsessed.
No ordinary plough though for Zebediah Higgins. Made it himself he did. Looked like one of them choppers. You’d see him lying back, ploughing away. “Born to be wild” blaring out from his radio. It just wasn’t normal.
Zeb’s wife had gone missing recently. It seemed to tip him over the edge. He now ploughed more furiously than ever. Elsie had been his rock. They argued incessantly but loved each other dearly.
One more plough and they’ll never find her grinned the mad old farmer.
This is my entry in this week’s 100 word writing challenge over at Friday Fictioneers.