The Faded River
The river did not freeze; it shattered. That was the first thing I remember of the end, the sound of the world breaking like a pane of glass struck by a hammer. I stood on the bank of the Ouse, my boots sunk into the black mud, watching the ice sheet lift and groan as the spring water rose with a violence that defied the season. It was not a thaw. It was a rejection. The water pushed against...
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