He should have known he’d one day regret living at the bottom of a hill.
He couldn’t remember why he’d once thought that would be such a great idea, but back then he’d loved it. Everyone walked past his garden. Always waved, friendly or otherwise. He could sit by his gate, watch them all day long and he’d still not get bored.
Now there was silence. The houses were closed. The only cars that ever came were food trucks. He hadn’t even seen anyone lurking behind the windows. He’d even had to put music on in his own garden; that’s how quiet the place had become.
But that wasn’t even the worst part of living at the bottom of the hill. The worst part came one day, when a large truck parked in front of the house high above. He was watching it, sipping his coffee mug, wondering what they were ordering now. Pasta? Canned food?
When the avalanche started racing towards his house, he hit his palm against his head. He should have realised what it was long before his house was buried beneath a white sea of toilet rolls.
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