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Squirrel Mountain Trilogy is a work of science fiction. It is an apocalyptic novel about a young man named Bench who comes to the aid of a war torn America.
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Time slithers like some dark and angry snake on its belly, waiting for its prey to weaken, to give up. Time waited for Grand Stanley and so did the deep ravine known as Squirrel Valley.
Grand looked out over Squirrel Valley squinting his eyes in the sun and shielding them with his outstretched hand. He knew the time had come, but didn’t know if he could go through with it. His brother had done it and died. His father had done it and was lucky, luckier than his father, and his father’s father. The Stanley men died young.
Grand’s young son, Bench, stood behind him in a small copse of trees watching curiously as his father stood at the edge of the cliff. Bench’s eyes would see on this day something he would not soon forget. The young boy stood alone behind a small birch. He had his backpack sitting beside him, paying no mind to its contents of dried venison, fruit, and a bedroll. He paid no mind to the old, rusty shotgun leaning on an adjacent tree. The gun was loaded just in case, just in case...
Grand tested the wind. He knew it had to be right. He knew the wind. He knew it well, the subtleties and the brutal cyclonic rushes. He had watched for years. Squirrel Valley would soon be his grave or his genesis. He looked back at the boy, feeling a tinge of sorrow. If he didn’t survive, the boy would have to walk back to his mother and the other children by himself. It was a long journey for a lad, five days fraught with danger.
Cliff flying had been a tradition in the Stanley tribe forever. Stories had been passed down through the generations. It had been told that Arkin Stanley had begun the practice over two hundred years before. He had fallen to his death while his oldest son stood by a tree not dissimilar to the one Bench now stood beside.
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