The Classroom in Dust
The sky had been the color of rust for three years. It was not a sky you could look at for long. The dust in it was too fine, too numerous, and it got everywhere—in your eyes, in your mouth, in the folds of your clothes. It settled on everything like a second skin. The wheat fields that had fed the Graysons for twelve years were now just indentations in a sea of brown. The barn had collapsed in...
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