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Inside a noisy factory floor at midday, Johnny crouches beside a humming machine, wrench tightening a bolt, while he peers through a grimy window at thick gray storm-clouds. Fluorescent lights glare overhead; a few coworkers tug levers in the smoky background.
Johnny tightened a bolt and glanced outside. 'Those clouds look thicker today,' he said over the hum. Coworkers shrugged and pulled levers. Machines puffed, and the sky smudged gray. Johnny frowned, thinking.
On a crowded city street under hazy afternoon light, Johnny stands atop a crate beside new gleaming factories, arm raised as he waves toward hurried shoppers clutching gadgets. Smokestacks loom behind him, exhaling dark plumes that blot the hidden sun.
Across the planet, new factories sprouted like metal mushrooms. 'Please, slow down,' Johnny called, waving. 'We need clear air.' Shoppers hurried by with gadgets. Smokestacks coughed, and the sun hid behind thicker gray.
At a dusty village crossroads on an overcast morning, Johnny rings a brass warning bell, eyes worried, while shuttered houses line the empty street and cracked puddles mirror a pale sky. No one answers; wind stirs abandoned park swings nearby.
Fields turned dusty, parks grew quiet, and puddles reflected a pale sky. 'This isn't right,' Johnny said softly. He rang the warning bell again. Doors stayed closed. The world felt like a wasteland.
In a sunlit bedroom filled with craft supplies, Kaleb sits cross-legged on the floor, smiling as he paints a bright poster reading 'Clean Air Club!' Beside him, markers and seedlings rest on newspaper, promising action beyond the window’s gray sky.
Kaleb woke up. 'It was a dream,' he whispered. 'But it matters.' He became a young activist, making posters: 'Clean Air Club!' He smiled. 'Let's plant trees and keep our sky blue!'