The Pulsing
The Pulsing by Donald D. Shore As we drove deeper into the countryside, my brother turned to me and said, “I don’t like coming out here anymore than you do. I just want to get it over with.” I shrugged and turned to watch the cotton fields that stretched out on either side of us. “I never understood why he lived way out here,” I said. “It’s not like he was a farmer or anything.” “He was an old bastard who didn’t want to be around anybody. That’s why he lived out here.” Silence carried us the rest of the way, to the steep incline ...