Like Rain on Sunday

Hey-o! There is no plan here. Just wrote the beginning several years ago and am quite intrigued by this "collab" idea so I wanted to see where y'all would take it. Feel free to join in. Otherwise, I'll have to monologue it till someone is interested.

The air smelt of summer.

It was a hopeful smell—one of freedom that promised lazy nights on the swing on the porch and evenings spent dodging after fireflies or flitting between gatherings.  And yet, it also carried with it a hint of sadness, for its secrets could only last so long before the chill would creep back in and overstay its welcome as autumn turned to winter.

But the end was so far off that it was still a vague illusion and, consequently, easy to dismiss as unimportant.  In fact, most people, upon seeing the way that the pale green of the infant leaves reflected on Absence Pond, had been known to dismiss even the important as being not so grand.  The landscape that surrounded the town was a drug, and its citizens were habitual abusers.

The End

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