This is the story of the Summer of 2002. We were the Swamp Warriors...closer than kith or kin...we were tribe... we were born of the same dust. The Great Dismal Swamp was our playground, our hidey-hole... our territory. From the lake to the canal to dry cave... we knew it's lay like we knew our daddies faces. The Summer of 2002 was the last time I would ever be allowed to be fully myself and the last time we, all together, held hands and waded into deep water. BTW... I put this under short story cause noth'n fit. it ain't 'xactly humorous, ain't mostly fiction... it's a curiosity. ©Naomi Marshall 2017
10 parts