The Faded Road
The door was locked. I had the key. It sat in my hand, cold and heavy. It was my key. I had made it. I had drilled the hole. I had filed the teeth. It fit. The house was quiet. Too quiet. My brother stood by the stove. He was washing his hands. The water ran red. "Did you do it?" I asked. He didn't look up. "The lock was jammed." "It wasn't." "I couldn't get in." We stood there. The steam rose...
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