Disclaimer: Of Mice And Men belongs to John Steinbeck. I own nothing.
A rooster call echoed through the seas of gold. The fully-grown wheat swayed in the wind, making the entire valley look alive. A man with a straw hat on and a slightly crooked back wiped his forehead, remarking on the scorching temperature to the man working next to him. The older man, struggling to do his share with only one hand, nodded in agreement. The pair smiled as a large sheepdog bounded up to him, barking happily. In the distance, far off from the others, a man worked furiously in the heat.
The sun beat down on George's bare back, and he straightened up from where he was working in the field. Looking up at the sky, he noted how long he had been working and decided it was time he took a break. After calling out to Candy and Crooks that he was going to rest for a little bit, he started the long walk back to the ranch house.
As he passed the alfalfa patch, he realized that it was about time their rabbits were fed. Grabbing a burlap sack that lay nearby on the ground, George filled it with the small leaves.
In the back of his mind, he heard a familiar, yet long forgotten voice whisper: "C'mon, George, tell me about the rabbits! Tell how we're gonna have the rabbits, an' alfalfa, an' I get to pet 'em an' feed 'em an' take care of 'em!"
George's back hunched as he felt an ache in this chest. "You woulda loved these rabbits, Lennie," he murmured as he entered the barn. Walking up to the small, furry animals, he placed the sack on the ground and knelt beside it. Little by little, he put the greens into each of their cages.
Another whisper. "Look at 'em nibblin', George! Can I pet 'em?"
A tear slipped down George's sun-beaten cheek. "'Course you can pet 'em, Lennie. They were always yours." He choked back a sob. "They're your rabbits, Lennie. Always."