The Wistful Show
The rain did not fall. It hung. A gray curtain of water, thick and heavy, pressed against the single window of the room. Inside, the air was stale, tasting of rust and old paper. Elias sat on a wooden stool. His back was straight. His eyes were open. He watched the water. The room was small. Four walls. One door. One window. No clock. No light except the gray day outside. Elias was a man of...
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