September 2012

Mineral Rights

listen to this story
I looked back and saw the face in the window. I was fourteen. Already, I could feel the world’s tolerance straining. I replaced the latch and headed into the woods behind their house. “My desire is innocent,” I protested. (I coveted only underground chambers (pools all my own, tunnels, secret water to swim in).) I would be forced to return this way many times again.

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