12 Sentence Story

Ripe fruit refuse sustenance, their vines growing taut over the expanded forms, their color becoming more vivid despite the sinking sun, their creator appalled at the progress, and the foundation growing less stable.

Nature dominates the world; the inhabitants dominate things natural.

All humans, creators at heart, can build anything to manipulate accordingly, and never do they refuse refuse a place to be recycled.

However, Earth feels a growing tension springing from within, then across the sky, behind the towers, inside the beings, and throughout the waters.

Mother runs and revolves and finally discovers a solution to the forthcoming problem.

Yes indeed.

She hoped that they would learn and that the self would be preserved and that her children would have some peace.

Thoughts abound, but none are realized.

In the elements, terrible saviors found, released.

"What did we do to deserve this?"

Descendants prosper, or perish, or become mobile, or remain standing, or fall, or tremble.

Mother Earth, by allowing therepeutic typhoons to rip asunder that which man has laid before Her, by allowing man to pollute Hr with the trash he refuses to clean up, by allowing all forms of existence near Her salutory neglect--wreaks vengeance upon those conscious.