This story has been in my head for years and I’m so happy to begin the offloading… this is the opening, which actually is near the end of the story, chronologically.
Meet Spencer, who turns out to be a random fisherman witnessing the sinking of the Sultana…the story will work it’s way backward through the Civil War. I appreciate your time and feedback!
Fatima, thanks again (working title)
A few miles north of Memphis on the east bank, Spencer David had just started reeling in his lines for the night. He could never arrange a quick exodus and he found himself in the hem and haw of whether to stay out longer to catch one more. He was already in trouble with his lady, but that was always the case. The cold, windy breeze that had just stirred off the Miss had clearly made up Spencer’s mind. He had turned away from the bank to review his sprawling camp. He always brought so much more than he needed and found himself questioning where he should begin to pack up. In that parallel moment, plus a moment or two, the brightest of white lights lit up the camp and the entire forest leading to the bluff above him. His first thought was that morning was nigh, which quickly changed to questioning a sun that was rising from the West. Stunned and whiskeyed, he turned about face to find that the great river was on fire.
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