paper shots 2 - 132

In the smoky gray courtyard, the firing squad is lined up, awaiting those to be shot. The former smoke while the latter lit candles in the night on their windowsills. But a section of the confiscated buildings is on fire and firefighters are trying to tame the ever-spreading flames – those who live in the area are out firing questions at officers ill-equipped at this fired-up injustice. The morning sun rises firing the tops of burned-out trees. “Fire! Fire!” a second of hesitation too many, “Fire, fire!” And all, at present, is gone up in tiny little bits of smoke.

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  1. Such a twisting tale, following the word, and yet the word is highlighting the variances of injustice. Your story reads like a Celtic knot of flame where we end up being mere wisps of smoke. When we all could be so much more.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. It made me think of the fires in California last year. I used to live in Chico (in the Sacramento Valley) and you could see Paradise on the ridgeline to the mountains. We thought about buying a home there, but the prices were much higher than in Chico. Now, all that beauty is ash.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Terrible. I’ve never (fortunately) witnessed anything like that first-hand, but fire and its destructive power has made its way (so i’ve noticed) into quite a few of the things I’ve written over the years…

      Liked by 1 person

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