River’s Edge
I couldn’t breathe. The ancient hemp lines of the suspension bridge didn't just sway; they groaned and warped violently under my weight, a sickening pendulum over a ninety-foot drop into the whitewater below. I stood entirely paralyzed on the far mud bank, the thunderous, localized roar of the river churning through the limestone gorge completely swallowing the world. Across that narrow chasm, the clearing was a visual slaughterhouse. The gray morning fog was punctuated by the sharp, electric orange of muzzle flashes. Shouts—vicious, panicked, and brief—were choked out by the heavy, wet impact of bodies hitting the dirt. And somewhere under that roiling layer of smoke and cordite was Kai. "Kai!" The name didn't leave me as a cry; it tore out of my throat like a piece of jagged glass, raw
- Writer
