|An old stick of dynamite!|
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I found it in the damp, smelly darkness, as I crawled on my belly searching for the stench of something that died under the porch. Had I known what it was, I might not have dragged it into the light.
What surprised me more—that it was an old stick of dynamite, or that it was wrapped by a letter?
"If I cannot have Sarah and the child she carries, no one shall."
Sarah. My mother.
I stared at the letter. Was the relic of failed destruction it had wrapped all that I had of a father I never knew?