Hey gang, and welcome back to Weekend Writing Warriors. Let's jump right back into the story. I edited this part quite a bit for today. Read up here what happened last week, or click on the cover for the whole short story. Thanks for stopping by. :)
Paul was in his twenties and just barely a man when his grandmother passed away. He remembered the date with great clarity, the broiling day in July under a cloudless sky; a mockery to how he had felt on the inside. Seeing all the people on his way back from her house, living their lives as if this was just any other day. He observed them from the shade, powerless, shivering. There was no caesura, no change in the world, and it sickened him to think that the universe responded by brushing him off with a flawless summer day.
Later on, the media would still talk about July 3 for being the hottest day of 1995 — yet never a word about the other great event of the day.