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Three-Line Fic Thursday - 2012 (9/52)

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Amy splashed angry red paint at the wall when she couldn’t articulate to Elder how it wasn’t the rain itself that she missed, but the smell, like grade school activity days and weekends at the movies and dim sum with Mom and running around the foothills of the mountains, early, early summer mornings. It wasn't the rain itself that she missed but the way it sank into the ground and just kept going, deeper to the roots, deeper to the clay, deeper to the core until everything was water again and then melted stone and fire. It wasn't the rain itself that she missed, but the way it created life.