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Submitted to Contest #332
In this village, in a now largely lost world, it almost never rained in summer. A blessing for the spoiled city folk, a curse for the villagers here.“Eee-eee-eee! How can it not stop here, how can it not stop?!” grumbles a grandmother, leaning on her hoe and staring at the large rain cloud, which, as usual, carefully skirts around their settlement. Once again, they’ll have to water abundantly in the evening and run with grandpa from one irrigation ditch to another, digging small barriers to guide the water. Rarely ― very rarely― the cloud wi...
Submitted to Contest #324
The sun is already blazing at 9 in the morning, a sure sign that the temperature will soon become unbearable. Over the meadow just behind Grandma and Grandpa’s house, a heat haze quivers and plays tricks on the eyes. Dangerous animals arise from it, desert oases, wondrous castles, princes and princesses. The scent of the village is particular, intoxicating — juicy peaches and apricots, goose droppings, dust, fire, and earth. The smell makes your head spin, and your chest rise and fall deeply, barely managing to draw a full breath. The scent ...
Submitted to Contest #323
CW: Violence At the dawn of the 1980s, only two or three cars pass down their little street each day. It is such an event that the children run after them, easily catching up. They see them off to the corner, lungs full of the exciting, strange scent of gasoline. Sometimes a driver honks the horn, sending the kids into delighted shrieks—along with the laughter and curses of adults watching from balconies and benches.Other times, when an important game is interrupted, the children yell and even hurl pebbles at the offending cars. Drivers slam...
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