A scorching beam torched the front porch of the two-story house.
The water sprinkler, despite running out at some point, continued with it's hushing and hissing. A waxy coat seemed to run off the pink flamingo, who was perched atop the healthy green grass. Unintended, unnatural, like a thin layer of sweat on a feathered bird.
A freshly painted white fence kept the grass contained, as if the absence of the pointed shepherds would allow it to spew out like a sickly herd towards its feed. They seemed to glare at the flock, mocking its primordial functions to grow out and upwards.
The sun did not lazily shine above the picture perfect house. It bombarded it with fiery hatred and the indifferent grudge of celestial beings.
Outside, the sand seemed like hot nuggets of dull gold. Blistering with every step, shimmering with every secret.
The man woke up, from his cooled room. And he opens the blinds in his dark man-cave.
'Damnit. Sand on my yard.'
YOU ARE READING
(edgy name that twists a cliche)
Random(description about how this story isn't your average [trope]) there are ants walking around my screen, i cannot squish them they are very sad,,, As I was, so were you
