Hecate, October 1st, 2005
All that was left afterward was the sound of the river. That and some vague ache and, perhaps, a feeling of wrongness about what had happened. Still, the river had acted as something cleansing.
Back then I was a country girl I lived in a town filled with football values, masculinity and drunkenness. Girls not talking to the boys until after the match, commenting thoughtfully on the game to show you watched. No comment on the netball you played to fill in time before night came. Saturday turned into Saturday night, and alcohol wetted throats, saturating values.
Afterwards, I sat on the bank...
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