The Faded River
You are digging. The shovel bites deep. The earth is cold and wet. It smells of rot. You do not stop. Your hands shake. The rain is a fine mist. It soaks your coat. You are looking for something. You do not know what. You only know it is here. The forest is dead. Winter has taken it. The trees stand like grey sentinels. There is no wind. It is very quiet. You hear your own breath. It sounds...
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