Written to rix_scaedu' prompt here to my Summer Giraffe Call Round 2
The sun was up. It had been raining for a week, and the plants did not need any more water.
Patrice suited up in leather, long gloves and shit-kicker boots, and risked stepping out onto her front porch.
She could hear sirens in the distance. She wondered if they'd cleared Main Street yet. She wondered what had happened with their "controlled burn." She'd told them it was too wet for that. She was told them they needed to find the source, but the thing was too good at distracting them from the core.
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