The Pale Meridian
The sky broke open over the ridge before the sirens even started. It was not a thunderstorm. The light was white and absolute, stripping the color from the pines, from the dirt road, from the face of the boy named Julian. He stood in the middle of the gravel, his boots sinking slightly into the loose shale. He was ten years old. He wore a flannel shirt that was too big for his shoulders and...
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