Erin Leary

The landscape was desolate.  A dirty swamp surrounded by an empty subdivision of cookie-cutter houses, so close together their future occupants would probably be able to hand a cup of sugar to a neighbor out of the window.  Gone was the dense forest with the heavy, lush green canopy of trees where she’d loved to camp and hike with her family as a girl, inhaling the thick scent of pine and sweet grass.  She missed the world of her youth.

Minutes later, she drove away at a furious speed, watching the whole abomination burn in her rear-view mirror.

For Friday Fictioneers


14 thoughts on “Sprawl

  1. Drastic measures. I like the contrasting moods you’ve built – her grief is followed by action. Something very satisfying there, even though one must deplore the arsonist’s tactics.

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