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Weekly Contest #239
The day appeared almost the same as any other, no rain from Christmas Day, on through February. For sixty days and nights, the town's tall century-old wooden homes sang out, a creaking choir. Danny the Mayor spent months listening, worrying about the portend: a chorus of woodgrain against gaps, wood on wood, on glass, against plaster and stone. Walls, fence posts, clotheslines, cupboards, and chairs sang, splitting and splintering under sweltering summer heat. Weekly, violent cracking bolts shocked the ground, speared from thunde...
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