The Storm

around to see how close my murderer was to me. “Can I help you, Son?” “Uh, uh, uh...” was all I could say, “You OK, Boy?” “Yeah!” I blurted out. I felt like the stranger now, because I was acting stupid, and the face I saw was the kindest old face I’d ever seen. “Yeah, I’m okay. You... you just startled me.” I’m not in the habit of stuttering, but I did that time. “How can I help you, Son? You lost?” “No, Sir. I came out here to report on the flood. There was water across the road to Pride and I saw the sign to Ruby, so I came here.” “Not much here, Son, but a few old rundown folks and buildings." He chuckled. “What can you tell me about the storm out here,” I asked. “Hold on, Son! Who are you and why do you want to know? Folks are kinda private in these here parts, and they wouldn’t take kindly to me spillin' no beans to a complete stranger. Who are you, Son?" he asked kindly. “I’m Zachary AB Taylor and I’m a reporter for the Brooklyn Free Press. My boss sent me down here to get a story first-hand about what went on down here, and to talk to the local folks about what they're going through. I don’t want to interfere with anything, and I don’t expect for anyone to talk to me about these parts unless they really want to. Here are my press credentials and the office number if you want to check my story.” “No need, Son. I believe you, but it would be best not to go door-to-door or nothin' like that, or you’re bound to get shot. We’ve had some pretty bad eggs come out here an' do some lootin', and these town- folk don’t know you fromAdam. No need to come all the way out here and end up dead, is there?” “No sir,” I replied. “I just need a story, Sir, to take back home.”

“You want a story, Son... well I can send you over to th e best storyteller around here. His name is Henry and he's a

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