September 1994 Pingree Park Late last night Gerard Smith had a
great idea. Not for you, not for me, but for him. Gerard was a very
misunderstood man. He was never given advice or asked for any
either. Some people show their ignorance as they walk down the city
streets with warm coats and happy expressions see Gerard on the
street suffering, sober as could be, thinking he would spend the
money on drugs and alcohol. Gerard never thought about being the
person he was until a few nights before this occurrence. He had the
perfect storm. A combination of thunder like the sound of a pen
dropping to a person with a migraine, a cold, swift wind that no
one would dare go out into, Lighting like a yellow switch in the
sky. He thought about the perfection this plan had reached without
any clue of the results. He jogged to the driest place he could
find, with a can of oil in his hand. He felt a nearby tree. He
found it. He felt the tree again. He found it. He poured his oil
all over the tree. He grabbed his liter and set the tree afire.
Gerard's legs swiftly cut and maneuvered through the tough terrain.
He felt the fire blaze on his back. Gerard stopped, coughed, and
kept running. 'Why am I running?' He thought. 'No one cares about
me anyways.' After that thought Gerard laid on the wet and cold
ground. He started to cry and cried until his painful death. The
fire lived on and grew larger and threatened Pingree Park. Gerard
had always known what his plans results would be but not this one.
If he were mad he would just watch something die off in the flame
or he would injure someone. In this case, though, in Mummy Pass,
Rocky Mountains, the fire would not be extinguished until some
innocent person or persons were killed. The mountains were not the
place for arsonists, but not in Gerard's case. Do not mess with
Gerard Smith, you might get burned.
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