Before the water rose, Marky had wheat growing in the front 40. The shafts had lifted heavy heads to the sun, ripening quickly. The heat had shimmered over golden fields, future glowing golden, before the river turned from a source of life to a mutant corrupter of all it touched.
But that was before the meteor hit. Before everyhting changed.
But that was before the meteor hit. Before everyhting changed.
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