Sometimes the signs are there but you gotta keep living anyway. Also: crows are only harbingers of joy.
The sun had been veiled by a bitter haze for weeks. Fina had to wear her mask any time she ventured outside, which was getting tiring. Every summer the wildfires seemed to burn more steadily, the wind carrying smoke farther and deeper into the city on angry currents from the dry fields and doomed forests.
She didn’t like the way her mask made her all too aware of her breathing, or that her night-time facial routine now included extra steps to wipe the soot from her skin. And she especially didn’t like that her best friend Becka had to rely on grocery deliveries, hiding inside with a rescue inhaler, her air purifier purring constantly as it scrubbed air already half-cleaned by the house’s HVAC filters.
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