Hellmouth - prologue
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We reckoned within our prideful heads that the river would never rise, and this path would never see a foreign pair of boots. Never.
So when I came back the next day and saw that a fucker, the first one to my right, nailed to a tree, as he would be for the few sunny days still, "a badly flea-bitten sack of shit", soakin' n' lolling lazy-like up to its haunches in the water.
So... I thought...spat...
So what?
Kneeled down, smelled the air. Nothing there but the pines.
The same as always. A bit higher. The stream. Dragged my cup in the water until I got rid of the coffee stains on it.
Had my fill. Tasted different.
But still the same...
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