1. the sound of the power wash from next door



    


      


        


          


            reminds me of the presence of pterodactyls from centuries long gone from any memory. in the early morning they would circle our valley and calculate their prey, the young, new baby fliers would mimic the elders' flight even though they didn't know why they would swoop without reason. we would hide all day while they hunted, our own smell was disguised with stegosaurus blood. in the deep of night we would crawl among the low branches never moving a leaf or twig foraging for left over insects and mammals hoping there was enough for the cooking fire in the cave. we had not been discovered no human had been touched by the thrashing beaks in the early morning we would slide back to our caves, renewing our cover all day as we slept we could hear the powerful wings flapping and soaring praying to the fire gods and the night gods to protect us from extinction
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