The Pale Meridian
You are standing in the kitchen. The smell is thick. It is the smell of boiled meat. It is the smell of old bone. It is the smell of fear. You hold the spoon. Your hand shakes. Margaret is sitting at the table. She is not looking at you. She is looking at the wall. The wall is yellow. It is peeling. The paint curls like dead skin. You lift the spoon. You blow on the soup. It is hot. It is...
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