This is an old story which is fitting. I'm old now myself. I've never shared it. So I suppose it's a new story as well

I grew up in the rural south down in the and New Story as well.

I grew up in the rural south, down in the heat and the hollows, in small towns where there were

more churches than people, where old ladies in the Sunday best with clock and scoff at advancements and his perceived sins

and then go talk a fire out of the burn on a child's arm.

No one took the Lord's name in vain, but we held our breath when walking past the dead.

We hung mirrors out to distract the devil.

This was the time when a man could do as he pleased, short of murder, and it was considered private family business.

Everyone knew the bad things about everyone else and their families were generations back.

Small towns are like that.

The bad things were talked about, but only in stuffy front rooms are out back in the farms, only

ever among people not involved in it.

After all, it was private business.

I was the youngest in my family.

I had two older brothers and an older sister.

They left home as soon as they could.

One brother to the army, the other to the mills and the drink.

My sister got married at 16 and made her escape. I think a husband was a nice man. I was left at home with

a dead mother and an angry father. I was angry at them for leaving me, but they barely made it out.

It would have been impossible with a child.

Mama died when I was three or so.

I heard whispers around town about what happened.

...