The Chronicler

Hurrying to rescue his son, Charles quickly lit the lamp, only to find giant grasshoppers invading their home from spaces under the wood shingles and cracks between the logs.  Oblivious to Nancy’s screams, the writhing hoard peppered the cabin window and scoured the outer walls.

“Oh, Lord!” Woolsey breathed, “What will become of our crop? God help our corn!”

But that was only the vanguard’s first wave!  Dingy morning saw a blizzard of new invaders, following hard on the heels of the first assault.

Wrapping his face with a rag, the man ventured into the dim daylight.  Thousands of feet above his head, gossamer wings glistened against the sun like silver flakes of snow.  The bugs swirled in eddies of air, forming bejeweled tornadoes; and as they landed, they relentlessly ate… weeds, tree leaves, garden greens, potatoes, corn, tobacco, shovel handles, fence posts, sheep wool, leather harnesses, paint, curtains, and clothing.  In a matter of hours, stubble remained where fields had flourished.