The setting sun burns red on the horizon, the swollen disc casting an otherworldy glow over the barren fields as I guide the tractor over the rough earth. The engine rumbles loudly, shattering the heavy silence that hangs over the wasted crops that sway listlessly in the hot winds. I sit hunched in the cracked leather seat, my face shaded by a wide brimmed hat. My skin is leathered and worn from years of toil beneath this ruthless sun. The ground before me is rutted and dry, every clod of dirt a reminder of the faded dreams once planted across these acres. Behind me, the crooked silhouette of the tractor cab stands dark against the blazing sunset, like the shadow of a great beast lumbering across the land. I steer on ceaselessly, the squeaking wheel familiar beneath my blistered hands. As the sun sinks lower on the horizon, shadows stretch over the abandoned farm buildings. The light gleams red on their broken windows like the remnants of some forgotten fire. In the distance, the withered cornfield sways, the dead stalks whispering ominously in the wind. I drive on, engine rumbling, the cracked fields rolling endlessly before me. The swollen sun disappears behind the ragged earth, concluding its descent. Dusk deepens around me but still I sit steadfast, guiding the tractor through the remains of what I once called home, enduring as the darkness falls.