The Faded Alibi
You wake. The floor is cold. It is made of stone. Or maybe it is ice. It does not matter. You are here. You are not there. That is the first truth. The second truth is the bird. It sits on your shoulder. It is small. It is grey. Its feathers are thin. They are worn. They look like ash. You touch it. It does not fly. It cannot fly. It is part of you. You are part of it. This is the deal. You...
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