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A Scarecrow’s
Sins
Elaine Chan
Isobelle Carmody Award
for Creative Writing
Highly Commended
Under the scorching heat of the sun, your reflection lingers constantly in my
marble eyes. I greet you with arms wide as you walk towards me in your mud-
crusted boots and faded overalls. How is your day? How is the business? A million
questions press against the seams of my mouth, threatening to slither out. You look
around at the vast green plains surrounding us, the fruits of our labour. ‘Look at
all this!’ You praise me with a bright smile, ‘You’ve worked hard, my friend!’ I
struggle against the lifted corners of my mouth. But then you reach out for the
straw hat sitting on the hollow surface of my head, and my smile fades as fast as it
had appeared.
Greed: a source of motivation, it leads to a path of self-destruction
. The
farmer looks around alarmingly, like a blind man seeing the world
for the first time. The shallow colour of the fruits and the worm-
bitten leafs suddenly seem apparent to him. Confusion and
dissatisfaction rush through him as he tries to grasp the root of the
problem. His thoughts are interrupted by the dismal arrival of grey,
stormy clouds from above, and the farmer soon finds himself
drenched in sweat and rainwater, his hat shaking unsteadily at the
turbulence. Pushing past the walls of humidity, he wades clumsily
towards the brightly lit house, leaving a trail of broken stalks behind
him in his unease.
The farmer leans into the doorway, a puddle of water forming
where he stepped along with a muddy footprint on the polished
floor. ‘Monica, how ‘bout a beer?’ He glances at the boy beside him
who is staring with a gaping mouth at something on the ceiling,
‘Look son, you’re going to have to step up your game,’ the farmer
crosses his arms, ‘after expanding the business, there’ll be plenty of
supply and demand flooding in, and I want you beside me, alright?’
The farmer feels a tap on the shoulders, and takes the beer from his
wife’s outreached hands.
‘We’re expanding the business?’ A look of worry fleets across her
face, ‘but we’ve just gotten back on our feet with the mortgage and
Emily’s school fees.’
The farmer takes a swig of the beer, ‘You don’t understand Mon,
I can make multimillions out of this,’ he gestures at the farm and
chuckles, ‘and isn’t it about time we take Em out of school? She can
help out around here. You know she loves the farm.’ He grins at the
boy who remains aloof from the conversation for its entirety, ‘but
you, young man, we’ll be the father and son pair at the top of our
game.’ For a second, the farmer thought he saw a shift of fabric in the
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