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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