The Wistful Witness
The silence in the basement was not empty; it was heavy, a physical weight that pressed against the eardrums and settled in the hollows of the chest. You sat on the cold concrete floor, your back against the damp wall, and you knew that the sound you were hearing was coming from inside you. It was a grinding, a low, tectonic friction that had been building for weeks, ever since you had moved...
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