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Hiding in the Forest

I have always had a love for writing fiction. Currently, I am writing flash fiction.

He barely made it out.

The ear-splitting noise of explosions finally died down. All he could hear was the light sound of rain falling off the trees. The air is cold and filled with the smell of smoke. The young man is hiding under a bush, his uniform tattered, and caked with mud. He was shaking – wishing for a warmer place.

The young man wanted to be anywhere but here. But he dared not move from this hiding spot. They were near. If he made any sudden loud movements, they would hear. Then lasers would cut through the trees. And he would be dead like the others, his fellow colonists. But he intended to live. He was going to live.

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