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I sat in my usual spot on the front porch of my Dad's farm house, watching as our fields of plump corn stalks swayed in the wind. It was nearing November. The leaves on the oak trees had long turned scarlet and parted from their branches and the nip in the air was no longer new.
I'd always loved the autumn season for all the joy it brought me. But it still was a season that brought fear and tension. This was the season where the sacrifice needed to be made.
My dad peered at me through the front window of the farmhouse, rapping on the glass.
"Are you just going to sit out there all day?" He demanded 'I've been calling you in for dinner for ten whole minutes. Do you want to eat tonight or not?"
I let out a sigh as I made my way back inside for dinner.
It had just been Dad and I for very nearly a year now. My mother had passed away under odd circumstances the previous November. Her body was found at the center of our neighbor's fields, drained of all blood.
My dad didn't cry when he found out my mom was dead. He didn't so much as flinch. I didn't dare tell him this, but I had always been suspicious that he had something to do with my mother's death.
My dad sat across the table from me. His face was buried so deeply in his soup bowl that I couldn't see his face well enough to read it.
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