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Weekly Contest #60
My rifle is heavy. My belly is empty. And my mind is racing. I kick some rubble along with a tattered boot. There’s no reason for us to be here. The city cleared out years ago and looting began shortly after. Whatever Chick thinks we’re gonna find here, we won’t. The wind bites through the worn, cotton shirt I wear. My uncle used to tell me stories about the four seasons. How the bitter winter would give way to warmer days and blooming flowers. How the transitions were typically slow and comfortable. Of course that was before the war. The in...
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