The Faded Dust

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2026-08-18 21:08:50 -

The Faded Dust

The ink is black. The ink is wet. It smells of iron. I hold the pen. My hand shakes. No. It does not shake. It is still. It is very still. "You are a fool, Thomas." My wife speaks. She does not look at me. She looks at the window. The glass is fogged. The world outside is gray. The world inside is white. The walls are white. The sheets are white. The paper is white. "I am not a fool," I say. My...

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