The Faded Road
The oak had gone. That was the first thing. The second thing was the silence. Not an empty silence. A held breath. Arthur stood at the gate. He adjusted his tie. It was silk. Black. He looked at the stump. The sawdust was dry. White powder. It stuck to his shoe. He kicked it off. The wind came. It smelled of iron. And rot. He stepped onto the path. The gravel crunched. Loud. Too loud. The house...
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