It Was the Fourth of July
It Was the Fourth of July slowest of slow burns stories

anonAnonymously Published Stories
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A written piece by agent25 adapted for commaful. find the rest: https://archiveofourown.o...

It Was the Fourth of July

The crooning voice of Louis Armstrong filtered softly throughout the living room of the comfortably aged and settled Cape Cod.

The white house, settled among a thicket of trees, sat perched up high on an incline, overlooking the sleepy Bellevue Forest neighborhood.

In the distance laughter could be heard as a group of young boys played a pickup game of baseball in the street.

The music rang out peacefully through the open windows as a light, summer breeze pushed the transparent curtains back and forth in an airy dance.

A thunderstorm the night before had dissipated the thick humidity that was usual this time of year. The air was light and refreshing.

Louis’ dulcet tones were uninterrupted except for the occasional scratch of the needle on the record.

It was quiet in the open living room as the sole occupant busied herself with her scented marker masterpiece.

Bright shades of blue, yellows and greens clashed together as a rough image of a garden grew and took shape.

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