The Faded River
You sit in the chair. The wood is cold. It presses against your spine. You are alone. The room is small. The light is dim. A single lamp burns. The flame is steady. It does not flicker. You hold the object in your hands. It is a glass paperweight. It is heavy. It is smooth. It is clear. Inside, there is a swirl of white. Like smoke. Like fog. Like a trapped ghost. You turn it over. The weight...
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