Posts tagged fiction
Riprap

He crests the ridge and slide down through salal and sword fern, plants his feet in creek mud, and stops to catch his breath, to listen.
Nothing but the gurgle of water, the swaying trees, his own hard-charging heart.

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The Bloody Head

In an opened window, a man was calling Help! Help me!—unmistakably, in English. The man appeared to be only partly clothed; at least, what the American woman could glimpse of his chest and part of his belly appeared to be bare.

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