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  • Katharine E. Wibell

A Girl from Rivendale


As I sit on the end of the dock, sea salt drying on my legs, I hear my sister laughing. With the unhindered fascination of childhood, she watches crabs scuttle under the pier. My eyes focus on the horizon. There is not a ship in sight. Clouds are building, teasing a rain that late spring rarely brings. There is a hint of change on the briny breeze. A shiver runs down my spine. The source of the strange sensation is just out of sight, shrouded by the grey haze where water meets sky. Something is coming.


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