The Golden Maze
The fire took the roof first. It took the beams. It took the silence of the house where I had grown up. I stood on the muddy bank of the river, watching the black smoke rise like a column of ink into the grey sky. The heat hit me, a physical wall, pushing back the hair from my forehead. My hands shook. Not from fear. From the weight of the thing in my pocket. It was a seed. My father had...
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