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  • Writer's pictureLifa

Black Summer

The smoke had no issues seeping into the shed, while sunlight struggled to pass through the window. Taking a break from unpacking my suitcase, I looked outside, shaking.

The sky was steeped in hues of charred blood; the houses covered in ash.

My phone buzzed with an update.

It’s too late to leave. Seek shelter immediately.

The bushfire had reached the end of my street. My town was trapped in a molten cage, and I was here, in Sydney, safe.

But the fear didn’t leave me. This was the new norm—

Summers, where we breathe the death of our land.

***This piece received an Honorable Mention in the final round of NYC Midnight Microfiction 2020 contest***

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