The Wistful Mountain
The frost had come early. It sat on the windows like a film of milk, obscuring the world outside. I watched it form. I watched it thicken. I watched it hide the house. My name is Elias. I am a clerk. I count numbers. I do not look at people. I look at paper. The house is old. It is ours. It is cold. I love this house. I love it with a hunger that eats me. I touch the walls. They are smooth....
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