The Distant Nightmare
The can of peaches sits on the kitchen table, its red label peeling away in long, wet strips. You stare at it. The metal is dented, the paint flaking off to reveal the dull, silver underbelly of the tin. It is the last one you have. It is the only thing in this house that feels heavy enough to anchor you to the earth, yet it is so light, so fragile, that a single breath could shatter it. You...
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