He walked down the dirty road, the only sounds his movements and wind in the grass. He had been out hunting – if you could call it that. In his rucksack were rusty cans of vegetables, stewed meat and bottles of clear river water which he still had to boil before drinking.
Arriving back at the farm house, he checked on things – animals and crops good – then he sat at the worn table and ate a tin of peaches. He found them good but too sweet, still he savored them, knowing they could well be the last just like he was.
(Inspired by; https://crimsonprose.wordpress.com/2019/07/10/crimsons-creative-challenge-35/ with thanks).