It was Thursday night in Halfmoon, New York, and 43-year-old Michael Orchard stood before a neighbourhood that had been set ablaze.
Every single home, falling in flames.
He did not panic. He did not hesitate.
Michael Orchard had a job to do.
He ran door-to-door to warn the people, only to be bafflingly dismissed. He wondered why, he wondered what had come of his town, but there was no time for questions, because Michael Orchard had a job to do.
Suddenly, Michael heard a deafening wail amidst the roar of the fire.
It was his neighbour’s house, crumbling to rubble and burning to ash; and it was a puppy, lost in the depths of its falling kingdom. As its cries grew stronger, so too did they grow weaker. The smoke was suffocating all hope, but Michael Orchard had a job to do.
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