Hilary D Zamora writes and shoots

The world seemed to have died, all the colors faded from the burning sun peering down upon the land. The sun was too big, trees too rare. What kind of hell had they brought me into? I felt like I couldn’t breathe as my eyes filled and stung. Instead of a log cabin, stashed away in the safety of a richly divine forest, like my previous homes, we pulled up to a mobile home, which sat upon an empty plot. No trees, nothing alive. Just rocks and dirt, burnt up weeds, and a huge horizon all-encompassing. ~Hilary D Zamora