DonateNothing But Flowers
Free Book - "Nothing But Flowers"
by: John G. McDaid
Every afternoon the rains, as they had for generations, swept in from the salt-lands to the west and drove the
scavengers into the shelter of the ruins ringing the lagoon. The sky grayed, and wind, pungent with ozone and
canebrake, flung stinging flights of droplets into the dank concrete holes.
The Fox Man ran from squat to squat, warning. "Big storm coming." He wore an outfit of scraggy orange fur,
scabrous and holed, and as he pranced past, fat raindrops spattered his costume to a blotchy patchwork.
Women set out plastic jugs, gathered utensils, and shoveled coals from cooking fires into logs to hustle
indoors. Naked children danced in the puddles.
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