The Distant Threshold
The frost on the window is thick. You press your forehead against the cold glass. It bites. You do not pull away. You are Eleanor. You are alone. The house is quiet. Too quiet. The wind howls outside. It sounds like a dog. It sounds like a scream. You are fifty years old. You have been sick for years. The doctor said the lungs. He said the time. He used his hands. He made circles in the air....
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