Opportunities in Ashes

Robert Quick

Where the -@!# did my muse go?

Writer, dreamer, knight, shackled by entertainment . . . and people.


The wind picked up around me, growing denser as smoke from the burning city below infused it. Particulates filled the air with enough irritants to give my lungs a tickle without quite forcing me to cough. I worried about long-term exposure but the activity below was exciting and I didn't want to miss any of it.

The paper mill had caught fire and vanished like a magician's trick, attention grabbing flashes of light and obscuring smoke. The surrounding warehouses had fared little better, the city having opted for wood over the greater expense of steel. The fire department's only dirigible waddled fatly through the sky, spraying long feelers of water down onto the fire with as little effect as tears.

"Miss. Your uncle bids you to come back inside." Jerry said from behind me.

I turned my head back to acknowledge him though I didn't have to. "Just a little bit more, I think."

He sighed which I did ignore.

Leaning forward over the porch railing, I stretched a hand toward the city. "Trust us, we can help you."


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