I always thought my air was re-breathed in the Amazon.
Not so, I’ve heard.
It’s Russia with the pristine forests
lending their oxygen to my lungs.
Even as I watch the forest fires decimate my woods,
I have to wonder why my air
isn’t Made in America.
The challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to write a story in exactly 55 words. Flash Fiction 55 is hosted by the G-man, a host with the most.
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