Cindy stood, paranoid and alone, in a sea of tallgrass.
Alone under a grey, leaden sky,
And no sign of other living souls as far as the eye can see.
Not a smallholding or a shack.
Not even wisps of fire smoke to indicate some form of human activity.
Just Cindy, crushed under the weight of the emptiness around her at this prairie campsite,
Weeping bitterly with regret at her choice of venue for the first annual agoraphobics festival.
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