At first, we thought the black liquid was oil, that we’d struck it rich and that we’d be able to retire and live in leisure. We actually started writing down all the ways we’d spend the money. Our first choice was to buy a great big… Well, that doesn’t really matter anymore now does it? We were dealing in proverbial horses and carriages as well as counting eggs. So much so that our back forty was overtaken by the bubbling, black ooze long before the ink dried. The sluggish avalanche devouring all the plant life it touched. It petrified tress and shrubs alike. Lord only knows how quickly it must have taken out the bugs and small critters as it sloughed along.
The man from the natural gas company came out to do a small appraisal on what we’d unearthed. Given how remote our little town was from civilization, not to mention the farm itself, we weren’t likely to see a bigwig gas company man for near a month. When ol’ Charlie Josephs came to us he had a sparkle in his eye thinking of all the good an oil source would be for the local infrastructure. After all, we weren’t the type to strike big and abandon our homes to and flock to some Hills out in Beverly. When I tell you this you’ll know it to be true, that sparkle Chuck had died the moment he saw what was devastating our once lush countryside.
He didn’t rightly know what it was himself, but he told us the smell alone should have indicated that this was not what we had come to believe. He told us crude oil gives off a smell of diesel, rotten eggs, or sometimes even asphalt on a hot summer day. Instead we were assaulted with a smell of rotting meat and what can only be akin to an open infection. It was a rancid odor that overtook every available sense by clouding up the eyes with tears and making mouths water in the sickest way. Worse still, the smell lingered with something sweet like dying bouquets left too long in the vases that turned a stomach faster than a butter churn. No one was proud to admit ol’ Chuck wasn’t the only one to leave his lunch behind.
Environmental agencies were called and granted access to the site for assessment and testing. They stayed for about a week, coming and going with mobile laboratories and flatbeds full of equipment unknown by the likes of the town. There is a suspicion that they left with a few less people than we had seen come in the beginning. After they left, we went to inspect if the issue was resolved, when we come across a new chain-link fences two rows deep. It’s outer fence dotted every ten feet or so with red and yellow signs warning of a chemical spill that could attribute to loss of life.
Now, once every other month or so a “surveyor” from the agency comes to check on it with more questions that answers in the end.
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