Brief sketches of life as it actually is.

                The light was yellowing eerily under the boiling gray clouds. Two trees creaked against each other like rusted door hinges as the wind pushed and pulled against their limbs. Through her open window, the girl listened to the coming storm as she sucked thoughtfully on the end of her pen. Pausing, she breathed in a lungful of the moist air. She could smell the storm that the dogs had sensed for days. That night it would pour, and rivers would run through the dirt around clumped islands of grass. It would rain for three days, and the creeks would fill and overflow, and the streets would run with a smooth film of rushing water. 

               The girl tugged at her long braid, smiling absentmindedly. She began to write.

The End

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