short-story
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The river had taken everything that night, not the gentle stream that fed the harbor, but the merciless surge of the storm swell that dragged his wife and daughter screaming into the dark. He had stopped counting the days long ago. Time had become nothing but another warden. Dust coated the iron stairs like gray…
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They made eye contact, then she winked at him as she slipped her thin dress down from her shoulder. He realized that all of the women were undressing. Soon they seemed to race by, nude and laughing with abandon. The men watched, captivated. Some clapped. Others simply ogled. Matt wondered if this were some forest ritual…




