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17th December
posted by amber


They come to my cabin-front to munch on the lush grass, stepping slowly, deliberately, from the lawn into the flower beds. They seem to favour the nasturtiums.

I don’t mind. Things grow fast around here and I know my garden will have healed itself before they’ve moved two weeks further north. Their passage punctuates my year.

The bison, the geese, the antelope, the brief plagues of locusts and mosquitos, sometimes it seems as if the years are flickering by like the pages of a book. Other times, even an hour feels like an eternity.

I was happy at first – to be sent here. This place is as lovely as they said it would be. Clean air, good soil, peacefulness. My cabin has a fabulous view. I can see for miles.

The first time the bison came, I could see them eight days before they got here, from the dust they raised up. I was worried about the cabin, especially when it began to shake. I should have known better. As rustic as my little house looks, it’s indestructible. The ones who sent me here want me to be here a good long time. I have enough food and supplies for decades.

I am to be alone, and to think about my crimes. I am alone on this world, they told me that and I believe it. This pristine world, this version of our own desecrated world, has never known the toxic touch of man.

And when I am gone, it will heal itself.

The Story 365 project is a year-long marathon of short story writing, with a new story for every day of the year and posted on this website from May 1, 2011 – April 30, 2012. Stories must be a minimum of 200 words. Please help me by adding first line or topic suggestions in the Comment section of any story. If you’d like me to use your name in a story, I’d be happy to do that.

Thank you to Paul for suggesting this first line.

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