The Drought Light
The earth had cracked into a thousand pieces, and each piece was a mouth screaming silently for water that would not come. Isabella Beauregard walked through the fields with a notebook in her hand and a canteen on her hip, recording what she could not change. The cotton plants were brown skeletons. The river had shrunk to a muddy trickle that smelled of death. The wells, once deep enough to...
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