The Wistful Silence
I am the only one awake. The house breathes. It is a large house. Old bones. Thick walls. The clock in the hall ticks. One, two, three, four. It sounds like a hammer on iron. I sit in the chair. I do not move. My hands are still. They rest on my knees. They are cold. I am a soldier. Or I was. The uniform is gone. The rank is gone. But the silence stays. It sits on my chest. It is heavy. It is...
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