By: Andrew Dahl
The train sped through the countryside, taking curves at a pace that Cynthia found inappropriate. “Can I get a fucking break?” she thought.
“Ah, the relentlessness of existence,” replied the endless fields of timothy grass.
“What?” Cynthia asked.
“Life hurtles on, with or without you,” said the fields.
“I was just—I’m getting motion-sick.”
“From the left turns your life has taken—“
“No. From the train.”
“It’s never just about the train, Cynthia.”
“What do you know? You’re a fucking field,” she snapped.
The endless fields wept quietly, having never before been spoken to in that manner. Cynthia rolled her eyes.
Write With 100 
The strawberry fields have been acting much differently, forever.
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