The Wistful Letter
The shrapnel did not sing as the poets had promised it would, but rather cracked against the reinforced glass of the clerical window with a dull, wet thud, the sound of a ripe pear splitting on the stone, and immediately after, the silence that followed was not an absence of noise but a presence, a thick, suffocating weight that pressed against the eardrums and settled into the marrow of the...
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