The Faded Paradox

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2026-08-18 19:31:19 -

The Faded Paradox

The house burned down last Tuesday. Or maybe it was a Wednesday. Time gets strange when the world ends. The smoke smelled like wet wool and old paper. It rose in a black pillar, silent and thick. I stood on the porch. My shoes were wet. I was seven. I didn’t cry. Crying takes energy. I was too busy looking. The fire was fast. It ate the eaves first. Then the windows. Glass crunched under the...

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