Code 3

It’s been raining so long through our lives, I can’t ignite the oil seeping into earth the experts warn as they disperse could engulf every town in fifteen miles. Is that because the match won’t light in torrential downpours, or ’cause I’m not heartless enough to solicit the scorching warmth, send neighbours breaking doors down; because who would be so vile?

Summer-long heat waves have braved second degree burns upon the grass, a clash with balance so utterly callous, pacifist winds end up collateral damage. The air’s just rancid since it asked brown skies to dance. It’s not even a romance worthy of the name.

So begins a relationship of extremes, of his prudence versus her screams, of upturned tables and vague threats to leave; emotionally stagnant, a struggle to breathe. One is the flood, the other explosive. Both have their motives and neither agree to abstain

or abdicate from power.

The stakes are rising every hour, and it’s
already been
four days.


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