The Distant Summer

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2026-08-17 18:33:11 -

The dream was always the same. A house of white plaster. The sun was high and merciless. The walls were peeling, revealing the red brick beneath like raw flesh. Margaret stood in the center of the garden, holding a bucket of water. It was heavy. It was warm. She was not thirsty. She was only waiting for the water to run out. She woke with the taste of dust in her mouth. The room was dark....

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