The Distant Machine
The letter was found in the left pocket of her winter coat. The coat hung in the hallway closet, smelling of wool and damp earth. It had been there since Tuesday. Or perhaps Wednesday. Time in the house had grown thick, viscous. It clung to the skin. It coated the tongue. Margaret held the paper. Her fingers were cold. The paper was warm. She read the first line. She read it again. The words...
0 Σχόλια 0 Μοιράστηκε 1 Views 0 Προεπισκόπηση