Droppin' fruit bombs all over all y'all!
You wouldn't recognize the countryside before the fruit bombs dropped. Lush green meadows, rolling hills. It was beautiful. Like something you'd see in a painting at the thrift store and think, "Nah! That's too idyllic."
Then, one Saturday in August of 2010, everything changed.
It'd been oppressively hot and muggy all week, but as the weekend approached, things started to cool down towards about 75 degrees. The humidity was low and the skies were clear, so people were all just out in the square, enjoying life. That's when the sirens went off.
There was a brief moment of hesitation - we'd all heard OF the sirens, but we'd never HEARD the sirens - before everyone realized what was going on and quickly scurried into the closest shelter or basement to escape the approaching Fruit Bombers.
The attack only lasted about fifteen minutes, but we all kept our cover for nearly six hours. Thinking back on it, who's to say what we were more scared of: the bombers themselves or what they had done to our land.
Sure enough, it was devastating: ripe black cherries everywhere, the hills splotched with spice, the roofs of the houses coated in minerality. We all stayed inside while the scientists analyzed things to see if there was any risk of radiation, but in the end, it turned to be safe: the bombers had used a blend of 76% Zinfandel, 16% Petite Sirah, 6% Carignane, and 2% Alicante Bouschet.
They said it'd be 3 to 5 years before the landscape fully recovered, so soon all will be well again.
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