Sample V-05: The Mud of Memory
(Southern Gothic) The humidity in Mississippi doesn't just hang in the air; it clings to you like a wet shroud, smelling of river silt and slow decay. I spent forty years trying to outrun the smell of that mud, but the river always knows where you are. It has a long memory and a patient appetite. I remember Caleb. He was a boy made of sunlight and reckless curiosity, the kind of friend who...
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