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The day I was 17, she disappeared in a cloud of dark smoke, no word told, I just remember her shoulders and her hair, she didn’t even look at me before disappearing, leaving me alone, unprepared for the War to come.
Creek Writer's Blood
Mario López-Goicoechea
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Interesting story. Thanks for sharing.
London-based, Cuban writer. Author of “Cuban, Immigrant, and Londoner” https://uk.bookshop.org/a/6886/9781528994293 https://acubaninlondon.medium.com/membership
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