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The sky turned an unusual shade of red as the clouds began to burn, a hue which would later be christened Blessingham Red, after the weapon’s inventor.

“It’s beautiful,” somebody said, marvelling at the sight through carefully crafted goggles with thick protective lenses.

Blessingham said nothing; he turned away from the sight.

He died that very night; when he was found, it was said that his face had turned as red as the clouds that heralded his success. Accidental carbon monoxide poisoning was the official verdict, but the real reason was common knowledge; a sudden attack of moral rectitude.

© Kari Fay

(Author’s Note: A very short flash this Wednesday – the Three Word Wednesday prompts this week are Burn, Hue, and Moral.)

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