The Pale Bridge
The glass is already cracked. You know this. It sits on the table, a spiderweb of fractures radiating from the rim. It is the only thing in the room that is not moving. Outside, the city roars. The factory sirens wail a low, endless note that vibrates in your teeth. You do not look up. You look at the cup. "Are you listening to me, Elias?" Your voice is thick. It feels like gravel in your...
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