The Mercy of Void
The house was a grey box in a town that had forgotten how to breathe. The wind howled across the flat, dead plains of the Midwest, carrying the scent of ozone and old grease. Inside, the furniture was sparse, the walls a peeling shade of institutional beige. Martha sat in the rocking chair, her eyes two clouded marbles reflecting a world she no longer participated in. She was a woman who had...
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